


Can't Quench Love

by KnittingElf



Category: Forged in Fire (TV) RPF
Genre: Bad blacksmithing puns, Dom/sub, Forging, M/M, Master & Apprentice, Smithing, Teaching, You hold the hammer like THIS, bladesmithing, oh my god why am I writing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 28,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnittingElf/pseuds/KnittingElf
Summary: Wil wants to learn how to forge a blade, and J. Neilson is the man to teach him. But sparks of a metaphorical kind start to fly as J introduces Wil to a world of desire he never imagined.(Note: I *never* imagined myself writing RPF, and certainly not RPF this smutty. Please forgive me for what I've made J and Wil do in these chapters.)
Relationships: David Baker & Doug Marcaida, J. Neilson & David Baker, J. Neilson & Doug Marcaida, J. Neilson/Wil Willis, Wil Willis & David Baker, Wil Willis & Doug Marcaida
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

Wil took a deep breath before knocking on the door of J’s dressing room. He’d faced enemy fire, performed seemingly impossible rescues, and had remained steady and calm through it all, but now his stomach fluttered and he could feel the sticky sheen of sweat on his palms. He was about to knock again when the door opened and J. Neilson stood before him. Wil lowered his hand as J regarded it coolly.

“What do you want?” J’s voice was friendly, but Wil could hear the core of steel in his tone. J didn’t suffer fools. Wil had seen it often enough on set, how J could take a blade, analyze it, and explain exactly where and how the smith had gone wrong. Men shrank under J’s composed regard, the friendly smile with which he delivered his criticism doing nothing to hide the truth. They didn’t make the cut. Would he?

“I—“ Wil had lost his train of thought in the face of J’s scrutiny, the piercing eyes behind the glasses seeming to see into his soul. He shook himself. “I was wondering if you would mind teaching me to make a blade. I’ve been hosting this show and I know weapons, but I think I’d be a better host if I knew what it was like to work in the forge.”

J’s gaze moved down and then back up Wil’s body as if he were searching for faults, and Wil suppressed a shiver. Everything, he suddenly felt, depended on how J. responded.

“You know, I usually charge $600 for a beginner’s knife making class,” he said, and then smiled, “but what’s a forging lesson between friends?”

Wil nearly sagged with relief, but then the fee J had just quoted registered in his brain. “$600? You’re sure I shouldn’t pay you?”

“I'm sure. I’ve been waiting for either you or Doug to want to learn more about forging. I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.” J smiled at Wil as he closed the door, putting an end to their conversation. Wil almost knocked again to ask _when_ this forging lesson would happen or what he needed to do beforehand, but J’s quiet authority stopped him before he could raise his fist to the door.

People always thought that being in the special forces meant you were some kind of hero out in the field, making decisions and going rogue, but really, it just meant that you were very good at your job, and part of being good at your job meant following orders. Wil was very good at following orders. And J was very good at giving them.

Wil let the suppressed shiver travel down his spine as he turned and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

On set later that morning, Wil practiced unveiling a table full of junkyard steel, the canvas cloth whipping cleanly away from the assorted chains, handles, axles, and leaf springs. Sure, it wasn’t getting US troops out of harm’s way, but he enjoyed the physicality of this part of the job. Doing something precisely and well satisfied him in a way almost nothing else could. He envied Doug sometimes, how the man got to wield the weapons on camera. He sometimes got to swing a sword around after filming had wrapped, but the production staff didn’t like it if they did that too much. Liability concern, they said. But he knew Doug was the right person to test the weapons, the blades becoming violent works of art as Doug spun and slashed. So he contented himself with perfecting his Nasty-Surprise-Unveiling Technique.

“Nice form, but you could snap your wrist a little more if you want more flourish.”

Wil turned to see J standing behind him, a mug of coffee in hand, feet planted firmly at shoulder width. _The stance of a true master smith_ —the thought popped unbidden into his head. He wondered how long J had been standing there, and his shoulders prickled with awareness. “Thanks. Excited for the challenge practice?” The judges always practiced the challenges beforehand to make sure they were doable while remaining diabolical, and Wil liked to use the time to practice his patter, joke around with Doug, and, if he were being honest with himself, watch J at work.

Wil wanted to think he would have noticed J walking down the street, would have turned his head to watch a man with such a confident, unassuming stride and eyes sparkling with sharp humor. But he had to admit that he probably would have overlooked such an outwardly-unremarkable person. J was like a Swiss watch wrapped in plain brown paper—only when you got past the surface did you see how extraordinary he was.

He realized J was talking and forced himself to focus on what the other man was saying. Wil caught, “…so pay close attention to what I’m doing today.” He nodded, and said, “Yes, sir,” hoping J hadn’t noticed his lack of attention. Wil didn’t think J would take “I wasn’t listening to you, but I was _thinking_ about you, which is basically the same thing, right?” as an excuse.

J smiled at the honorific. “I’m surrounded by military men,” he said, shaking his head. “Between you and Doug, I’m liable to get a big head.” Wil dared a grin as he gave J a mock salute and turned to join Doug at the judge’s table.

Wil was so focused on J as he loaded two different types of steel into a canister that he almost missed Doug asking for feedback on new puns he was thinking of trying out.

“What?” He asked Doug, hoping the other man would think the sounds of the forges and power tools had made him drop the thread of the conversation.

Doug leaned in closer, “How hard do you think I can lean on the “dam” in “Damascus” before they won’t keep it in the show?”

“I don’t know, man, they let all of those flux jokes go through that time, so you could probably get away with it.” Doug grinned in reply. They fell silent as they watched David and J start to draw out their billets. The challenge was making a signature blade, and J was making a seax, a popular choice among the contestants. He and David moved around the forges with ease, their movements sure and economical, a sharp contrast from the adrenaline-fueled flailing they sometimes witnessed when filming.

“I wish I knew how to do that,” Doug said, and Wil agreed, but found himself hesitating when normally he would report to Doug on his plans to learn how to forge from J. Dammit, he should have invited Doug as well, but that thought—the thought of going back to J and saying of course he had meant to include Doug in his plans—drew him up short. He couldn’t form the words of the invitation he knew he should make.

“Maybe they’ll teach us some day,” he said, “but you’ll need to teach us to be Kali badasses in return.”

Doug laughed. “I’ve had much less promising students than you guys,” he said, slapping Wil on the shoulder.

Wil laughed along, but inside he was wondering _why_ he was keeping something from Doug, who was, at the end of the day, a friend as well as a colleague. As his eyes drifted back to the forge floor, where J wiped sweat from his brow as he frowned down at his knife’s profile, he thought he knew the answer, as much as it scared him.


	3. Chapter 3

The knock on Wil’s dressing room door made him jump a little. He usually had this time before shooting started in the morning to enjoy a moment of quiet with his coffee before heading out into the noise and controlled chaos of the forge, so he was surprised to see J when he opened the door. J walked in, turned, and said, “What did you learn watching us forge those knives yesterday?”

Wil took a sip of coffee to buy some time before responding—he should have known that J would quiz him after telling him to pay attention during the test run yesterday. “I learned that taking the time to make sure your welds are properly set matters, and that if you try to cut corners early, you’ll pay for it later.” J nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, and Wil continued, “If the billet isn’t doing what you want it to, pause to think through the problem and don’t just keep doing the same thing hoping for a different result.”

“Very good.” J smiled and Wil resisted the urge to preen in the face of that praise. “And what have you learned from being on the show?”

“Let’s see…don’t quench in water, wait for the blade to cool before file-testing it, spark test metal if you don’t know its carbon content, don’t make a round handle…” he trailed off, suddenly unable to remember anything else. He’d been on the show for multiple seasons, but his mind had gone blank. But J’s smile stayed in place.

“You’re building a lot of good theoretical knowledge, but once you’re doing it, not just watching, all of that knowledge can fly out of your head. You need to get experience so that no matter what is happening, your body will know what to do.”

Was J just fucking with him? Everything he was saying sounded like an innuendo, and Wil’s pants were too snug to hide how his body was ready to practice. At least J hadn’t said anything about pounding.

“Once you get the feel for pounding that steel, making that metal move, you’ll never turn back.” J gave Wil a grin that he could only describe as evil.

“Great,” Wil choked out. “When do we start?”

“Tonight. I got the go-ahead from production to use the forges for a lesson.”

Wil made a noise that J must have interpreted as agreement, because he left, shutting the door behind him. Wil dropped onto the dressing room couch with a groan. Did he have the time to release some pressure before filming started? HIs watch said no. Thinking of his worst days in the military usually got an unwanted erection to go away when he needed to get control, but he couldn’t conjure any of it up in that moment. He hadn’t had it this bad since he was a teenager, and if he walked out on set like this, he would make things very awkward.

Wil glanced at his watch again, deciding that he would make the time to take care of the…situation in his pants. Production might just have to start a few minutes late today.


	4. Chapter 4

The floor of the forge was quiet, the ceiling lights casting a warm glow over the empty space. The forge looked softer, somehow, even though the evening light outside couldn’t make it in. Filming had been agony—Wil was always aware of J because he usually stood on that side of the judge’s table, but today he had almost vibrated with alertness. A contestant had pulled off a spectacular, unlikely fix at the last moment, and Wil had slapped his hand onto J’s forearm during the collective excitement, and the brief contact had burned. How would he survive this lesson?

J walked into the light of the forge floor, the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up, exposing strong forearms. They weren’t corded muscle, but they had a reassuring solidity, and Wil knew from touching him earlier that day that they were firm. He realized he was standing at parade rest and tried to look casual, but J had noticed and one side of his mouth tugged up in a smile.

“At ease, apprentice,” he said, clapping Wil on the shoulder. “Ready to move some steel?”

“Yes, sir.” J wasn’t his CO, but it felt right to show him that respect in the forge.

“We’re going to be doing a canister Damascus, which is not where I would start beginners, usually, but I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Wil nodded and walked over to look at the leftover steel from the day’s filming. “Since it’s your first time, let’s have you use one type of steel and then steel powder,” J said as he came up to stand by Wil’s side. “Ball bearings might be a good choice since you can get the steel powder in between them pretty easily.”

Will grabbed a canister and the ball bearings, while J got the steel powder. Wil also snagged a bottle of white out. “Now, I need to make sure the white out is completely dry before I start packing the canister, right?”

“Very good.” J nodded and Wil’s chest puffed out just a touch. He couldn’t help it—J’s praise was like sunlight breaking through clouds. It made a person want to unfurl and bask in the warmth.

Things got infinitely worse when it came time to draw out the billet. Getting the can off had gone well, although Wil knew it was only because J had been there to supervise—and correct—his every move. The torment had started when J discussed what hammer to choose. He’d said, “You need something big enough to move that metal, but not so big that you can’t take it for long,” and Wil had choked back an involuntary groan.

And now J had positioned himself behind Wil to show him how to put his whole body, not just his arm, behind his swings to shape the blade. The feel of his back pressed hard against J, his shirt seeming thinner for the sweat that had soaked into the fabric, made more than concentration hard. They were about the same height, so J’s chin was almost at the same height as his. Wil would just have to turn his head a little to the left… He regretted having pretended not to fully understand J’s solo demonstration of hammer technique. All he had wanted, Wil told himself, was to draw out this lesson a little longer, to spend just a few more minutes in the forge alone with J. Or was he lying to himself? Had he wanted this, even though it took everything he had to resist turning those few inches to the left?

J stepped away. “You’ve got it now. Just a little more and you’ll be ready to quench.” Wil gave himself a mental shake and focused back on the blade taking shape beneath the hammer. God, he needed quenching as bad as the steel did, and a cold shower couldn’t come fast enough.

Heat treating the blade gave Wil another chance to show off his knowledge to J. He’d paid close attention to J’s technique when he and David practiced the challenges, and he’d noticed that J always heated from the tang out.

“Why are you heating from the back forward?” J asked as Wil moved the knife in and out of the forge—blacksmithing was truly a gauntlet of sexual visuals—and Wil took a breath before replying.

“Well, because I’ve seen you and David do it this way, and I think it’s because you want the heat to move up towards the tip and not the other way. That way you would avoid overheating the point and making it brittle.”

“Exactly,” J gave him a smile of approval. “You’re making me proud, with everything you’ve learned. Time to quench.”

Wil didn’t have time to do more than smile back at J because he had to concentrate fully on maneuvering the glowing steel into the oil, leaning back to avoid the fire that bloomed up from the surface. He counted thirty seconds, as J had instructed him to, and then pulled it out.

J examined the knife as they waited for it to cool. “No cracks, no warp. Good job.”

“Thanks,” Wil said, unsure what else he could say. _Please, J, take me now_ would be too forward, perhaps.

The file test showed the blade was hard, and J said they had done enough for one night. Wil checked his watch—almost 10 PM. They went to wash their hands at the clean-up station, and Wil thanked J one more time before escaping to his dressing room. He leaned against the door, eyes closed, and took a few deep breaths. It would take maybe 30 minutes to get to his home base here in New York, and then that cold shower would wash away the sweat and desire that clung to his skin.

A peremptory knock made Wil jolt away from the door just as it opened to reveal J. The other man walked in, closing the door behind him, and he leaned back against the wood.

“You did very well out there tonight,” J said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “But don’t think I didn’t notice what was going on out there.”

“What?” Wil felt a flush creeping up his cheeks.

“Pretending you don’t know is beneath you, Wil. Say it.”

The command cut through Wil’s hesitation, and he straightened before responding, “I was—I was turned on. Sir.” He added that _sir_ out of instinct, his years of service taking over when he could scarcely believe what he was saying.

“And what are you going to do about that?” J stayed in that casual pose, leaning against the door. If someone had looked in on them, Wil thought, they would think J was talking about the weather or about the day’s contestants, not asking questions that should merit an HR complaint. A bubble of laughter rose in his chest even as J’s question stoked his burning desire.

“Whatever you tell me to, sir.” The words came easier this time, pulled out of Wil by J’s casual command of the situation and, it seemed, Wil.

J pushed himself off the door, letting his arms drop, and walked towards Wil, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile even as his mouth remained set. “Very good. Here is what I want you to do: I want you to take off your belt, unzip your pants, and show me how much you want it.”


	5. Chapter 5

“You want me to…?” Wil didn’t know how to finish that question. There were multiple ways to interpret that request—no, command—and he had no idea where to start. Well, the belt and pants parts had been clear enough, but what came after… He fumbled with his belt buckle and felt the slow slide of the belt through the loops on his pants like a caress. The zipper was a little trickier given how much tighter his pants had gotten.

“A good start.” J had stopped a few feet away, arms crossed again, and he regarded Wil steadily. “You need specific instructions?” Wil nodded, swallowing hard.

“Take your dick out and stroke it until you come.”

The order swamped Wil in a wave of arousal. He moaned as he moved to comply.

“I didn’t say you could make any noise. No, look at me while you do it and think about what you want.”

Wil knew, objectively, that this should not be working for him. He had always approached sex as a playful romp, and while this was a game, it had a darker, sharper edge than he was used to. But fuck, it was working. He’d never been harder. And shit, if he kept going like this, he was going to chafe.

“Spit in your hand.” J delivered the order without any tension in his voice. Wil did, and the wet, smooth glide of his hand almost undid him. J continued, “Don’t look down. Look me in the eye.”

It should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. J’s piercing blue eyes were a lifeline, something Wil could hold onto as he spiraled deeper into pleasure as he stroked himself. J had told him to think about what he wanted, but he’d never been creative, and right now all he could imagine wanting was this, forever. His hand sped as he increased the pressure. This wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Tell me what you want.”

“This.” Wil was panting with the effort of holding back the sounds crowding his throat.

“Really? You don’t want anything more?”

Wil shook his head as his body started to shudder. Keeping his eyes locked on J’s was getting harder the closer he got to coming, the urge to tip his head back and close his eyes against the fierce blue gaze nearly overpowering. But damn it, he’d been given an order, and he would follow it.

“Don’t make a sound.” J’s voice had dropped what sounded like an octave, his usual baritone now a growling bass. “I’m going to make you do this when everyone is here, so you’d better practice keeping quiet.”

The thought of J wringing this pleasure from him while everyone went about their business tipped Wil over the edge, and he came hard, biting his lip until he tasted blood. The groan he stifled caught in his throat, the small sound bringing J to his side.

“Good, but not perfect,” he said into Wil’s ear, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin and making Wil shiver and close his eyes. “You’ll need more practice.” Wil felt J’s hand stroke him once from the nape of his neck to his low back, and then he was gone. Wil opened his eyes just in time to see the door close. He slumped back against the wall, drained, satisfied, but restless. J had lit a fire, and that single orgasm had only banked it. Stir the coals, give it some oxygen, and it would blaze back to life.

There was a test they made you do in the military as part of water survival. You had to walk blindfolded off of a high diving board, plummet into the water, and then surface. Simple in theory, wickedly hard in execution. Wil had almost frozen in the face of the primal fear that the blindfolding inspired as he walked down that board knowing the plunge was coming but not exactly when, but the minute he had stepped off, it had been exhilarating to surrender to gravity, to let it pull him under. He had that feeling now, and he wondered how far he would go, how far he would let J take him, to hold onto that pure surrender.


	6. Chapter 6

Wil was in the middle of practicing “fully functional friction folder” like a tongue-twister when J knocked on his open dressing room door.

“Mind if I come in?” He had on his typical filming outfit—a button-down shirt and dark pants—but his expression and voice held just a touch of uncertainty. Or was it concern?

Wil ushered him in and closed the door. J laid a hand on his shoulder before speaking again. “I wanted to check that you were OK with what happened last night after the session.”

Will nodded, but J didn’t respond, so he forced himself to say, “Yes.” That single word took more effort than it should. Couldn’t J just understand that he was OK with it? Why force Wil to say it out loud?

“If we’re going to keep going with this, if you want to keep going,” J added, “We’re going to need ground rules. Do you want more?”

This time, Wil’s “yes” came easier even though it had a rough edge of need, and J smiled at that.

“Good, because I do.” He moved his hand to feather a touch against the side of Wil’s jaw, and Wil nearly turned his head to nuzzle into J’s palm. “But ground rules first.”

J seemed to accept Wil’s nod as a response this time and stepped back to prop a hip on the table against the wall. Wil almost followed him, wanting to keep that contact, but he held back.

“How much do you know about dominance and submission?”

Wil’s mind was a blank—he hadn’t known there would be a test. He would have studied. “Um, what the name implies?”

J smiled and shook his head. “So not much. First thing—if you submit to me, it’s because you want to, not because I’m making you. If you want me to make you, we can do that, but you’re in charge the whole time.”

Wil frowned, and J pushed off from the table to get closer. “What’s that expression mean? Tell me what you want.”

Wil’s frown deepened. Why did J keep putting the ball in his court? It was easier to take J’s lead, follow orders, and take whatever he got and be glad for it. “I…” he trailed off, and J took mercy on him, taking his hand and interlacing their fingers.

“OK, let’s try a different strategy. Are you frowning because you don’t want to do this, because you didn’t understand something, or because you’re uncomfortable?”

Wil focused on the pressure of J’s strong fingers, the safe harbor they provided against the uncertainty and discomfort roiling his insides. “I thought you would call all the shots.”

J rubbed his thumb across Wil’s wrist and laughed, low and dark. “Oh, I will, when we’re in the scene, but I’ll only be doing that because that’s what you want. But we’ll also do what I want, and I want to know what will get you so turned on that you can’t see straight.”

Wil couldn’t hold back the shiver these words inspired, and J smiled before continuing, “I want to break through that armor you’ve put up between you and your desires, I want to strip you bare so that your every fantasy, every filthy thought is on display.” He moved Wil’s hand down to the fly of his pants, and Wil could feel his hard length through the fabric.

“How about this? Do you like this?”

Wil bit his lip before closing his eyes and whispering, “Yes.” J moved Wil’s hand so that Wil was stroking him through the layers of fabric. “What about this?”

“Yes.”

J increased the pressure, showing Wil was he liked.

“Will you say yes to whatever I ask right now?”

“Yes.”

J stepped away, and Wil almost stumbled forward at the sudden loss of contact.

“Did you say that because it was true or because that’s what you thought I wanted to hear?”

Wil shook his head, trying to clear the fog of lust from his mind. J’s tone was sharp, the tone he used in the forge when a bladesmith hadn’t made the fixed he’d requested.

“Both?”

“Hm,” J said, tone softer. “Let’s start again. If you want me to stop anything we’re doing, what safeword can you use?”

Wil thought about this for a second, looking at his Chucks. Part of him felt embarrassed by J stepping away, although a quick glance at the front of J’s pants showed that he was still aroused, which soothed his ego some. The other part of him knew that J was trying to do things the right way. J always wanted to do things the right way. That gave him the courage to suggest, “Flux?”

J shook his head and flashed a smile. “Too close to ‘fuck,’ and I want you saying that a lot.”

Wil caught the undercurrent of laughter—not aimed at him, he knew—and decided to push it. “What about ‘fully functional friction folder’?”

J laughed outright at that, and Wil grinned. J schooled his features back into line and said, “Too long. Come on, apprentice, you can do better than that.”

Wil ran a hand through his hair as he thought, and he caught J’s eyes following the movement, saw the desire in his gaze. “What about, ‘camp knife’?”

J groaned. “I’m so tired of camp knives. They’re just oversized hunters. Yeah, that will work, or even just ‘camp,’ if things are…heated.”

J beckoned Wil over to him, and Wil went as if J had pulled him. “Now, where were we?” He grabbed Wil’s hand and put it back on his erection, which was straining against the fly of his pants. They both groaned at the contact.

“What would you say if I told you to do this in the deliberation room while the crew was on set?”

“Yes.”

J raised an eyebrow at that, but his composure broke when Wil increased the pressure. His head tipped back for a moment before he got his control back. Wil decided to be brave and went for the zipper.

J grabbed his hand to stop him. “No, I didn’t say you could do that.”

Wil made a sound of frustration. Last night, J had made him come harder than he had in years, and Wil had felt like a selfish bastard afterwards. He wanted to—he _had_ to—return the favor. In previous sexual encounters, he had always been a sort of orgasm dispenser, eager to please, energetic, and thinking more about his partner than himself. Pleasing people pleased him, and now J was throwing a wrench into everything.

“What is it? Do you want anything more?”

Wil tried to formulate a response, but the words were stuck, if he could even put words to what he wanted. _More, you, just let me do what I’m good at_ —he knew J wouldn’t accept these answers. He would want Wil to be specific, and Wil couldn’t be. He stroked J twice, fast and hard.

Once again, J stilled his hand, even though Wil could feel how his erection had gotten impossibly larger and how his hands shook. He had to be close to coming.

“Let’s get back to business, then,” J said with effort. “What if you can’t talk? What if you’ve got my cock down your throat and you want things to stop? What do you do then?”

Wil had never understood fainting in the absence of a serious injury, but the sudden rush of blood away from his head made him reach out to clutch the back of a chair for balance. Jesus Christ, J was torturing him, and they hadn't even gotten to the good stuff yet.

J regarded him with forced calm, and Wil said, “What if I tapped you twice? You know, like tapping out?”

J nodded. “Very good. Camp or camp knife, and two taps. Now, do you want to want to watch me stroke myself off?”

“Yes.” The word ripped free from Wil, louder than he intended, but J didn’t comment. Instead, he undid the button and zipper on his pants and started to stroke himself.

“You’ve got me so hard,” he hissed out, his voice low. “You’re going to watch me come, and then I’m going to stand outside this room while you get yourself off.”

Wil stared at J’s hand moving up and down the hard length of his erection, saw how dark the tip was, longed to have it in his mouth. J noticed.

“You’re going to get yourself off, and if I hear a single sound, I won’t let you suck my cock tonight on the forge floor. I told you—you need practice.”

Wil squeezed his hands into fists, knowing and loving that he had to wait until J was done. J continued, “I’m going to have you on your knees, be so deep in your mouth—“ He broke off to bite back a groan, and the restraint nearly had Wil falling to his knees right there. He heard himself panting as J finished with one, two, three hard strokes.

They stood there facing each other, both breathing hard, for a few moments. J collected himself first, probably because he didn’t have a raging hard-on screaming for relief, cleaned himself up, and headed for the door.

“I’ll be right outside,” he said, his eyes intent on Wil. “What we do tonight depends on what you do now. Don’t forget—you’re in control.”


	7. Chapter 7

Wil must have performed to J’s standards, because after adding Micarta scales to the blade and grinding it down that evening, J had ordered Wil to gets on his knees so that J could fuck his mouth.

And afterward, Wil flying high from the heady power of making J come apart and J a little wobbly from the force of his orgasm, they leaned against the wall and each other as they caught their breath. Wil enjoyed the feel of J’s weight on his shoulder and how his strength, built and maintained for years through hard physical training, could be used for shelter and support. Although, in their current position, J was supporting him as much as he was supporting J. He shifted to his right to take just a bit more of J’s weight and smiled.

“You know I’m off set for the rest of the week, right?” J’s voice was quieter than usual, and a little hoarse.

Wil felt smug and disappointed all at once—smug because he’d been the one to make J's voice scratchy, disappointed because he’d forgotten that Ben was going to be judging for a few episodes.

“Oh. Yeah.” He hoped he sounded nonchalant.

“But,” J said, sitting up and placing a hand on Wil’s knee, “I want to text you while I’m gone. Is that OK?”

“Of course.”

“And—“ J paused and seemed to gather himself back together, the authority coming back into his voice and posture, “you’re not allowed to masturbate while I’m gone.” He raised one eyebrow in challenge or perhaps just waiting to see if Wil would say “camp knife.”

“I don’t suppose you plan to make that easy for me, do you?”

“Talking back? Now I’m going to need to make things very, very hard.”

Wil snorted, and J tightened his grip on Wil’s knee. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that.”

Wil couldn’t wait.

J made him wait, but not too long. He knew the usual schedule on set and when Wil would be able to look at his phone. The first text arrived during their usual break between the morning forging and the afternoon handle making.

 **J:** Send me a picture. Full length.

Wil thought about asking what he meant by “full length,” but that might be pushing it. Figuring out how to pose took a little longer. He propped his phone up against his favorite coffee mug and moved back in the dressing room, peering at the screen to make sure his whole body was in the shot. He tried out facing straight forward with his fists propped on his hips, but that was too much like some of the promo shots they had done. He leaned back against the wall, hooking his thumbs in his waistband. Better, but still too much like a senior picture. Wil hinged forward at the hips and ran a hand through his hair. Too male model? Fuck it—he didn’t have forever. He set the timer for 10 seconds, hastily repositioned himself against the wall and did his best to smolder. What was the opposite of smizing? Whatever it was, he was doing that.

 **Wil:** I hope this meets your exacting standards.

 **J:** It does. But your attitude…

 **Wil:** No disrespect meant, sir.

 **J:** Better. But still, you’re going to spend the handle-making session this afternoon NOT thinking about how I would be staring at your ass if I were at the judges’ table. I expect you to report back on how well you did.

 **Wil:** Yes sir.

Well, fuck. This was going to make filming difficult. Hard, even. Wil rubbed a hand over his mouth as he contemplated the hours ahead. Maybe Doug would be at craft services and have a distracting martial arts anecdote to tell? Or he could get David to expound on the history of World War II Latvian officers’ swords? Or maybe Ben would have a story about…being Ben?

Wil’s hope for distraction came to nothing. The contestants had no major problems with their handles, and aside from a short conversation with the judges about needing to up the ante on the handle-making parts of the challenges in future episodes, all he could think about what J staring at his ass. J was hundreds of miles away, but Wil could feel his gaze as he stood in front of the judges’ table, barking out time reminders and observing the contestants at work. If J was here, Wil would hang back more by the table, cracking jokes, leaning over to get J to look at him. Ben was great, but he wasn’t J.

Wil moved around the space with quick, restless movements, almost bouncing on his toes.

“Did Doug put itching powder in your pants?” David called out to him, and Wil turned around, forcing a laugh. Shit, if the guys were noticing, he needed to get himself under control.

“Too much coffee,” he said, and leaned on one hand against the table. “Lost track of how much I had because Doug kept telling stories about all of the famous people he’s put in headlocks.” That turned the attention away from him, at least. But it didn’t do anything to stop his thoughts from returning to J—what J would do, say, and how he’d be staring at Wil’s ass. He was failing miserably.

Well, not exactly miserably. Awkwardly? Yes. The forge floor now held the memory of him going to his knees for J, and he suspected J was going to ask him to do more. But what?

J kept asking Wil what he wanted, and Wil applied himself to this question for the first time in—ever. He’d thought he was sexually adventurous, had gone to bed with both women and men easily, and enjoyed whatever came up in the moment, intent on giving other people pleasure. But J was something different. He wanted to be in control, but he wanted Wil to give it to him, and take it away if he didn’t like something. He wanted to know what Wil wanted, not just what he would be willing to do. And what did he want?

“Wil. Wil!” David’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You going to do the countdown?”

Wil looked at the clock—shit, just twelve seconds left.

“10!” He started the countdown, the adrenaline of almost missing his cue making his voice louder than usual.

 **Wil:** Reporting back. Failed the mission.

 **J:** Tell me how you failed.

Wil hesitated for a moment. Just how detailed did J want him to get?

 **Wil:** I thought about you staring at my ass.

 **J:** Being very informal tonight?

 **Wil:** I thought about you staring at my ass, sir.

 **J:** Is that all?

 **Wil:** No, sir.

 **J:** Tell me.

 **Wil:** I thought about what I wanted, sir.

 **J:** And what do you want?

 **Wil:** I want

Wil paused, hoping J wouldn’t be staring at three dots on his screen as he tried to put into words the formless desires he’d started to give shape to that afternoon.

 **Wil:** I want you to blindfold me and take me somewhere in the studio. I don’t know where. And then I want you to…I don’t know. That’s as far as I got.

 **Wil:** Sir.

 **J:** It’s a good start. I’m proud of you.

That praise did a little to make the flaming blush on Wil’s face worth it. How did J talk so calmly about his desires, as if they were matter-of-fact and as easy to discuss as the weather?

 **J:** Now, you failed this afternoon, but I set you up to fail. But you did finally tell me something you want, so you get a reward.

Wil waited, but the three dots didn’t appear. The building was emptying out, and he had to head out too, or else he’d be keeping some poor staffer from going home, so he packed up his day bag and headed out into the cool evening.

A few blocks away from the studio his phone buzzed and he fished it out of his pocket.

 **J:** Here’s your reward. I told you not to masturbate, but you can tonight, as long as you’re thinking about me blindfolding you and as long as you don’t come.

 **J:** Pics or it didn’t happen.


	8. Chapter 8

Wil decided that a video would be better than pictures. He’d never done this before—had heard so many horror stories from his women friends about unsolicited dick pics that even when he was dating someone it felt off-limits—but J had specifically asked him, well, _ordered_ him. The fact that he practically sprinted through the hotel lobby and up the stairs because the elevator was taking too long? Maybe showing off for a lover was something he wanted. Wil almost texted J about this discovery, but he could include that in the text when he sent the video.

Wil spent perhaps too much time getting the lighting and angles right, but this was his first time, and he wanted it to be perfect. He smiled at that thought—the first time he’d had penetrative sex both he and his partner had been so frantic after what felt like months of foreplay that they hadn’t even thought about what they wanted it to be like until after. Now, though, he took the time to set up the phone against the bedside alarm clock and turn on the lamps in the room that would cast the most flattering light on his naked skin. Because he was going to be naked.

Sound was another issue. The hotel’s walls were thick, and the cool silence of the room was making him self-conscious. But turning on the air conditioner could make the sound quality of the video worse. Wil felt his desire flagging; set dressing was clearly not a turn-on for him. So, he hopped in the shower, which was a good idea anyway before getting naked on the bed. The forge floor was hot, and he abhorred dirty sheets. As he soaped his skin and let the hot spray beat on his face, he imagined himself back on the set with J. J wrapping a blindfold around Wil’s eyes, taking him by the hand and leading him down a hallway, telling Wil what he was going to do to him in a low, commanding voice. He felt himself begin to harden and turned around to shampoo his hair. His own fingers became J’s, tugging on his hair, guiding him to sit on a hard surface, pushing Wil’s legs apart so that J could crowd into that empty space and kiss him— Wil broke off the fantasy when he realized he’d wrapped a hand around his erection.

Toweling off quickly, Wil decided to leave the bathroom fan on for background noise and then arranged himself on the bed, his head and torso propped up on a stack of pillows and half-turned toward the camera. He regarded his image on the phone screen. Damp, tousled hair, not combed back as it usually was on set, skin golden in the lamplight, the shadows created by the swells and dips of muscle—maybe it was narcissistic to think it, but fuck, he looked good.

Wil hit the button to record and settled back onto the pillows. He opened the bottle of lube he’d placed beside the phone (because yeah, maybe he’d been hoping J would come back to his room some night) and warmed it up in his hand before reaching down to stroke himself, his touch light and slow. God, the silence in the room was awkward, the bathroom fan doing nothing to ease his sudden embarrassment at jerking off in front of his phone. _No, it’s for J, and what would J want?_ J wanted him, Wil knew, and he wanted Wil worked up. And what would get him there? Wil slowed his breathing, and started to talk.

“I took a shower before this, and I started where I left off this afternoon—you leading me blindfolded through the set. I imagined you pushing me to sit on something hard, I think it’s an anvil, and you push my knees apart.” Wil kept his eyes closed, seeing the scene he was conjuring up with his words, his hand traveling lazily up and down his length, grip still light. A tease more than a touch. “You step in between my legs and you take my face in your hands, turning it up.” Wil lifted his free hand and ghosted a finger over his lips, shuddering at the contact. “You—you run your thumb over my lips and push it into my mouth, telling me to suck it like I want to suck your cock. And—fuck—I do, I want it so bad.”

Wil dimly realized that his grip had tightened and that his hips were flexing so that he was fucking his fist. He bit his bottom lip, the small spark of pain bringing him back to himself. He slowed his pace. “You tell me to hold the anvil and not let go, and I think you’re going to fuck my mouth or me or—but you don’t. You kiss me, you take my mouth and make it yours, and I want to reach out, pull you against me, but you told me to hold onto the anvil so I don’t even though it’s killing me.” Wil’s eyes flew open as a white-hot bolt of pleasure streaked up his spine. He looked over at the phone and saw how he was sprawled on the sheets, one foot on the mattress, one leg dangling off, his pupils blown and jaw clenched against the tide of arousal threatening to swamp him. For another person he might have smirked at the camera or flexed his muscles, but J would prefer him as he was: undone, panting, honest.

“You stop kissing me and I don’t know what you’re doing or where you’ll touch me next, but then you undo my belt and pants and _fuck_ , you’re going down on me.” Wil’s hips bucked up at the image that flashed through his mind—him, immobilized by J’s words on the anvil, J in front of him, his fingers digging into Wil’s thighs as he licked and sucked and—Wil squeezed the base of his cock as he realized he was on the verge of coming. He took a few panting breaths, his head thrown back on the pillows and his legs trembling with the effort of holding back. It would be so easy to finish himself off, edit the video to end before he came. God damn it, he wanted to come. But even in this moment, he wanted to play the longer, darker game J had started with his texts more.

When he felt the imminent threat of orgasm subside, he started again, easing his grip some. “You are so good that I almost come, but it’s too soon for you, so you back off, make me wait. My knuckles are white, I’m gripping the anvil so hard. God, I just want to take over, get myself off because you won’t let me come, but I want to do what you told me to more, so I don’t. Fuck, I’m just hanging on, taking whatever you’ll give me, even though you won’t. Let. Me. Come.” Well, shit, the orgasm he’d staved off had come roaring back and he slammed his hands on either side of his hips, grabbing fistfuls of the bedding as he fought it back. His hips twisted, trying to get pressure and friction on his dick, but he held himself on his back through sheer force of will.

Wil didn’t know how long he lay there, how long it took him to realize that he was still hard as a quenched blade though his heartbeat had slowed and his breathing was normal, or as normal as it could be with the anvil fantasy still playing in his mind.

Wil rolled over toward the phone and said, “Have a good night” before ending the recording. That prosaic ending made no sense, but Wil had been raised to be polite. How else was a person supposed to end a sexy video? He composed a short message and hit “Send” before he could think too hard. What he needed was a cold shower. He would have gone to get a bucket of ice if his stubborn erection wouldn’t have made that too awkward to contemplate.

He had a text notification on his phone when he returned to bed, room service on the way and Comedy Central reruns on the TV.

 **J:** Fuck. You’re magnificent.

Wil smiled. He was rather, wasn’t he?


	9. Chapter 9

By the time J returned, Wil was in a near-constant state of arousal. Their text exchanges had now ruined anvils, the pantry, and ice block chops to the point where Wil felt like he blushed no matter where he looked on set. J had stopped by his dressing room that morning, but since David was with J, discussing some finer point of bladesmithing that went right over Wil’s head, there had been opportunity for little more than pleasantries and a furtive brushing of hands.

Maybe Wil should have been bothered by that, should have wanted whatever this was to be public, but it was still so new and he didn’t even know what _this_ was, so he wasn’t. Bothered, that was. Horny as fuck? Definitely. Wil’s phone buzzed just as he was heading to set.

 **J:** Another forging lesson tonight?

 **Wil:** Please.

 _Please…let that be a euphemism_ , Wil finished his reply in his head. Blades were fine, but J was better, and Wil still had a lot to learn.

Wil faced the four contestants. “Today, you’ll be forging a blade in your own signature style using the steel provided for you. Please lift up the cloth covering your anvil.” The smiths did, and one shook his head in dismay. “That’s right—you’ll be forging your signature blades from cylinders of 1060 steel.” Wil rattled off the parameters and finished with, “Your time starts…now!” The contestants scrambled to start their designs and Wil walked back to the judge’s table.

“So, what challenges will the smiths face in working with rods of steel?” Wil waggled his eyebrows at the judges as he asked, and Doug coughed a laugh into his hand.

“Smiths should have plenty of experience with rods like these—they’re just the right size for pounding into blade,” J replied with a straight face, although Wil could see humor in his eyes.

“Hopefully they’ll end up getting them nice and hard,” David cut in.

“A little on the nose, Dave,” J countered, his criticism tempered by a quick snort of laughter. J leaned over to Wil, hand casually covering his mic, and said in a low voice, “Careful what you start today. You’re giving me ideas.”

Wil took that as a challenge.

When the smiths all got their steel in the forges to heat up, he asked, “How long will it take those rods to get good and hot?” J retaliated when a smith drew out the tang of his knife too long, saying, “That’s just not going to feel good in the hand—you need to be able to get a firm grip.” The back and forth continued until Wil counted down the end of the morning challenge, and he had to detour to his dressing room before hitting craft services for food to give his libido a stern talking-to.

David was at the craft services table, piling a selection of the day’s offerings on a plate, when Wil arrived. “You doing OK?” David’s voice was friendly as always, but Wil caught the undercurrent of concern. They’d been on this show for years together, so they knew each other pretty well, in some ways even better than Wil knew J. Wil scrambled to find an appropriate deflection.

“I’m fine—just had to send a text to my mom about plans for my dad’s birthday.” As far as lies went, it was pretty good. His dad’s birthday was soon, if it being three months away counted as soon.

David’s head tilted and a line appeared between his brows. “You’ve just seemed more distracted lately, that’s all. You’re usually so focused.” Wil made a non-committal sound, and David continued, “I don’t mean to pry, but you know you can talk to me if you ever need to.”

“Thanks, man.” Wil met David’s eyes and gave him a nod. He meant it, he really did. David was a friend and a mentor, and Wil knew that behind the good humor and glee David brought to their work that the man cared about him and the others.

“Excited for the tests this afternoon?”

“The tests are always exciting—I’m just waiting for the day when one of the knives breaks and flies into someone’s leg.”

“Good thing we have someone with rescue experience.”

Wil laughed. “I think the on-set medical folks would object if I rolled in.”

“But think of the fans, Wil, think of them.”

The handle-making challenge continued the battle of innuendo begun that morning.

“What leads to a good grind?” Wil asked, telling himself that he was just doing his job by getting the judges to explain what was happening so that non-smiths could understand.

“Well,” J replied, “you have to use the right amount of pressure. Grind too soft and you won’t get anywhere, grind too hard and you’ll destroy your blade.”

“Should Chase really be grinding that bade so much? It’s going to end up skinny. Like me.”

J gave him a once-over. “Lean,” he corrected.

Was that even innuendo anymore? It felt like J was eye-fucking him in front of everyone, and Wil could not find it in himself to object.

David broke in. “I’m a little worried about Dirk’s handle over there. Those scales are way too thick.”

Doug leaned over the table to get a better look. “No way is that going to fit comfortably in my hand.”

J shook his head, “If a blade won’t fit well in the hand, it has no business being handled.”

“And you have a lot of experience with handling blades, so you should know.” Wil kept as straight a face as he could, but lost control of his expression when David flat-out giggled.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that one, Willis.” J’s voice had no heat in it, but his eyes made up for that.

“You can come over here by me if you’ll feel safer,” Doug chimed in, snickering.

“I can handle myself,” Wil replied with a laugh, but J just quirked an eyebrow at him and Wil realized what he’d just said.

It seemed like J had engineered the entire day to lead up to the blade testing, because when he said, “I’m going to forcefully thrust your blades into these cans of paint,” Wil almost combusted at the sudden image that flashed through his mind of J bending him over the judge’s table.

“Chase, are you ready?” J asked the first contestant.

“I’m pretty nervous.”

J gave a short laugh. “Well, we’re going to do it anyway.”

“Erp.” The sound that escaped Wil was halfway between a squeak and a whimper, and he hoped no one else heard it, but the slight twitch of J’s shoulders made him think at least one person had.

J transformed during the strength tests, no longer the mild-mannered and coolly competent judge but instead a wild man. His face twisted in a grimace as he stabbed the knife into the paint can, hard grunts punctuating each thrust. Is that how J would sound as he fucked Wil? He needed to know. God, he wanted that fierceness, that aggression, wanted to take it all into himself and give it back as pleasure. Wil glanced surreptitiously at his watch. Only a few hours until their next lesson would begin, and he knew exactly what he wanted.


	10. Chapter 10

That night, J had them work on forging a friction folder, and Wil knew he was in trouble. J was giving him a lecture about creating the perfect amount of friction in the pin assembly, but they both knew he was talking about something else. Sex. Sure, it was obvious, but overt sex metaphors were about all Wil’s brain could decipher at the moment.

“What’s the most important consideration when designing the handle?”

So he was supposed to be thinking about the sex metaphors _and_ the mechanics of knife making? J overestimated his abilities. “Uh…where to put the pivot point on the blade?”

“Not bad.” J gave him a nod, and Wil sighed with relief. “But you seem distracted.”

“Because,” Wil paused, realizing he couldn’t say _because you’re intentionally distracting me_ , unless he could. “Because you’re distracting me.” There. Leaving out the “intentional” bit would help. J’s eyes narrowed. Or it wouldn’t.

“A bladesmith has to deal with distractions, apprentice. If you’re not ready to do that, our lesson for the day should be over.”

Wil felt his heart sink, and he opened his mouth to protest that no, he would be good, he would focus, he would do anything to keep the lesson going, but then he caught the glint in J’s eyes. He closed his mouth so quickly that his teeth clicked.

“Tell me what has you so distracted.”

“You know.”

“I might, but I’d rather hear you say it.”

“You,” Wil said, and when J raised an eyebrow, he added, “sir.”

“Oh really?” J got into Wil’s space, and he raised a hand to skim it along Wil’s jaw, calloused fingers catching on the stubble that was starting to show this late in the day. “What about me is distracting?”

Wil swallowed hard. “Everything.” But that wouldn’t be a good enough answer. So he started with the most obvious things. “Your hands—they’re so strong but you can do the most detailed work with them. Your voice. I don’t know what exactly about it, but it’s so fucking sexy that you know exactly what you want to say and you’re not afraid to say it.” J threaded the fingers of one hand into the hair at the back of Wil’s head, the gentle tug and pressure a reward for letting the words spill out of his mouth. “And your eyes—shit—“ J tugged harder, expsosing the column of Wil’s throat, and Wil felt hot breath skate across the sensitive skin, “I feel like you can see right through me, see everything I want.”

At that, J spun Wil so that his hands were on the anvil and J was pressed up against his back. Wil could feel the hard length of J’s erection pressed against him, and he moaned.

“But that’s the problem, Wil. I don’t know what you want. You’ve started to tell me, but you always stop yourself before you get to the best parts.”

Wil pushed back against J, loving how J made a noise between a grunt and groan. “How is that for friction?” He tossed the challenge over his shoulder.

“You’re trying to change the subject.” J gripped Wil’s hip hard, a warning. “Why do you stop? Your video left me with a lot of questions. Do I ever let you come?” He held Wil still when he tried to grind back against J.

“Yes,” Wil finally said, when the silence stretched too long. “But you make me beg for it.”

“Hmm,” J sounded rough and approving. “Then what happens? What more do you want?”

“I want…fuck, I want you.”

“We both know that. What do you want?”

How was J controlling him just by covering his back, holding his hip, and talking? Wil felt trapped, and it would have been unpleasant but for how they were both panting and sliding their bodies together, the movement too subtle to be grinding, but enough to loosen Wil’s tongue.

“I want to hold you while I stroke you off, look at your face while you come.” J’s breath feathered over the back of his neck and then—J _bit_ him, right where his neck and shoulder joined. Wil almost doubled over at the pleasure that unleashed, the sheer animal possession of that gesture.

“That can be arranged,” J said, his other arm coming around Wil’s chest and drawing him impossibly closer. “Now, for the first part—no blindfolds today, but you’re going to go to the pantry and choose the cord you want me to tie you up with.” He stepped away from Wil’s back, and Wil took a few deep breaths to orient himself before stumbling over to the pantry area. He felt dizzy, his vision only in focus when he looked at J, distorted everywhere else.

He scanned the shelves and found the wrap materials. The thinner wraps could be uncomfortable, but he found some wider leather that might be used to wrap a katana. It was soft against his fingers as he picked it up, and Wil felt a shiver of anticipation travel down his spine. How would it feel to have J restrain him? Besides amazing, of course. He turned back and saw J, whose hungry gaze threatened to make him even more wobbly than he already felt. Wil unbuttoned two of the buttons on his shirt, a dark blue chambray that he had chosen specifically because the fabric draped well over his muscular torso and because the blue made the golden tones of his skin pop.

“Showing off?”

Wil smiled. “I discovered a few things while you were gone. I like showing off for you.”

“Hm. What if I wanted to show you off to other people?”

Wil stutter-stepped. “How do you mean?”

J walked up to him, strides as calm and sure as always, and took the leather wraps from Wil’s nerveless fingers. He brought his mouth close to Wil’s ear, the hand not holding the wraps cradling the nape of his neck, his touch gentle. “What if I tied you up here in the forge, naked, and showed everyone how easy it is to get you hard? Would you like that?”

Wil let out a shaky laugh. “That’s a little advanced for me, I think.”

“Camp knife?”

Wil nodded, the motion making his cheek rub against J’s. “Camp knife.”

J gave his neck a squeeze and stepped back, a smile on his face. “You set a boundary. Good.”

“Um, but you’re still going to tie me up now, right? Because I want that.”

J laughed, his head falling back with the force of it. “Yes, yes I am.”

And fuck, did J deliver on that promise. Almost before Wil knew what was happening, J had wrapped the leather around his wrists so that they were secure but not too tight. He had looped the long tail of the leather around an anvil and knotted it so that Wil was facing the judges’ table. J brought his hands around to the front of Wil’s shirt.

“Should I finish what you started back there?”

“Yes.”

J’s fingers worked the buttons loose quickly, and he spread Wil’s shirt, hands hot on the skin of Wil’s chest. When J lightly skated his fingers down the ridges of Wil’s abs, he shuddered, the sensation almost too much. “Ticklish?” J’s tone was light and curious.

“Right now I am.”

“I wonder if you’ll be ticklish when you’re so turned on you can’t see straight.”

“Already there. Could barely make it to the pantry and back.” Wil ended the sentence on a gasp when J palmed Wil’s erection through his pants.

“I can tell. You’re so easy to turn on.”

“Just with you.” Wil’s mind snapped into focus as the words left his mouth. That was true, wasn’t it? He’d never had trouble with arousal, but he hadn’t had hair-trigger erections since he was a teenager. J hummed in the back of this throat at that, his fingers moving to Wil’s belt buckle.

“I like that more than I should. I like you eager and ready.”

Wil pushed his hips back into J’s as J worked the fly on Wils pants down. J rewarded him with a low groan. The air of the forge was hot in the aftermath of their friction folder lesson, and it kissed the skin of Wil’s hips and ass like the memory of a flame as J slid his pants and boxer briefs down. Wil had the urge to cover himself, but the tug of the leather on his wrists brought home how helpless, how exposed he was.

J came into Wil’s line of vision and stood in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. He forced himself to meet J’s eyes, not allowing himself even the false modesty of not seeing J seeing him. Or maybe he was showing off again.

One side of J’s mouth kicked up in a smile. “You look amazing, all of that strength bound and waiting for me.” He came forward and urged Wil’s chin up with a single finger. Wil trembled. “You’re desperate, aren’t you? Tell me what you need.”

Wil gathered himself, pushing through the reticence that rose up even though he had already said these words. “I want you to not let me come until I’m completely destroyed.”

J leaned down, his lips mere millimeters from Wil’s. “Oh, my darling Wil, you don’t know what you’re in for.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noooooo, I have lost control of the story.

Wil knew what edging was—didn’t everyone with an internet connection?—and liked it himself, relished the challenge of bringing himself right to the point before the point of no return, then backing off, just to bring himself to that point again. And again. But three times was about all he could manage in a solo session, and with partners he was lucky to manage once. Life as an orgasm dispenser who lost himself in the act once things progressed past a certain stage meant he had honed his foreplay game.

J was using Wil’s body as a masterclass.

He had started with just the tips of his fingers, tracing the lines of Wil’s erection, pressing lightly into the spot where the shaft met the head, rubbing soft circles around the tip. A hand on Wil’s hip stopped him from thrusting, and the line between _not enough_ and _too much_ blurred to the point that Wil moaned at each gentle brush along his length.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes. No—more.” If being reduced to monosyllables equated to being destroyed, Wil was already there. J pressed his lips to the spot where Wil’s ear met his jaw, and Wil leaned into the kiss—their first? But he wanted J’s lips on his even though the spot J had found sent electric sparks down his nerve endings. “Kiss me.”

“I am.”

Wil turned his head to try to capture J’s mouth with his own, but J backed off, stepping behind Wil and once again pressing against his back. “Hm, you want me to kiss you on the mouth? I’m going to make you earn it.” Wil groaned half from pleasure and half from frustration. J continued, “I’ll give you more, but not what you asked for—not yet. You’ll get it, but when I say so.” This time Wil’s groan was pure pleasure—J’s words, the game he was starting, sent a bolt of arousal straight through him.

Wil felt J lower his forehead to rest between Wil’s shoulder blades and dropped his own head just in time to see J’s hand wrap around his dick. “Fuck.” The word came out on a hard exhale.

“Does that feel good?” Wil heard the edge of strain in J’s voice, reveled in knowing J was as strung out as he felt.

“You know it does.”

“Good. Watch me.”

J began to stroke, and Wil did as he was told. J kept his touch light, but Wil felt the strength in J’s grip. A bolt of realization struck—J had always had Wil touch himself before, had put Wil in charge of his own pleasure. Had that been deliberate? It must have been. Whatever the motivation, this new level was making what should be a simple hand job something momentous.

“Wait—don’t move.” Wil didn’t obey, turning his head and as much of his body as he could to watch J walk over to his bag. J fished something out and returned.

“Is that…?”

“Your brand of lube? Yes. I saw it in the video you sent me.”

Wil didn’t know what to do with that. It was possibly the most thoughtful gift someone had ever gotten him.

“We’re going to be doing this for a while, so I thought lube would be a good idea.”

That sounded more like a threat, but Wil wouldn’t complain. He’d stay in this spot all night, slightly hunched over the anvil, until his muscles cramped if it meant J would keep touching him. J stepped back behind Wil, but now when his hand closed around Wil’s erection it was slick. Slick and hot. Wil’s eyes rolled back into his head at the first glide down the shaft and back up to the tip. “Fuck.”

“Not yet.” J’s voice held a promise that Wil would hold him to another day. If he survived today. J’s hand was picking up speed, and the pressure of an orgasm was building at the base of Wil’s spine.

“Are you close?” Wil panted out, “yes,” and J’s hand dropped away. J stroked his other hand down the back of Wil’s neck. “You’re amazing, did you know that?”

Wil, still teetering on the brink of an orgasm, could not deal with that compliment. “And you’re the worst.”

J laughed as he came around in front of Wil and bent to untie the leather from the anvil and unwrap Wil’s wrists. “So, focusing on your pleasure is bad?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Do I?” J raised an eyebrow. “Pants off.”

Wil flexed his wrists, relishing the lines and marks the ties had left behind, the phantom feeling of the restraint, then kicked off his shoes and pants. J crooked a finger, and God help him, Wil followed like he’d been trained.

“I want to see your face,” J said, pushing Wil back and up onto the judges’ table. He planted Wil’s hands behind him so that Wil was bracing himself upright, and then looped the leather around Wil’s forearms. The bonds would only hold if Wil kept his arms spread apart—J was giving him the opportunity to escape if he wanted to. He wouldn’t. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to make me come.” Wil heard the edge of impatience in his own voice.

“Hm, not yet. But what about what you said in the video you sent me? Do you want me to fuck you with my mouth?”

Of course that’s how J would say it, of course going down on Wil would become a way for him to be in control and not the other way around. And fuck, Wil wanted it.

“Yes—“ Wil would have said more, but J’s mouth and fist were already on him, and he lost the ability to form words. He lost track of how many times J brought him to the brink, only to back off, and by the time J finally let him come—so hard he might have blacked out for a second—he was wrung out, barely human, a tangle of need and desperation. J hauled him upright when Wil’s arms threatened to collapse, pulling off the leather wraps as Wil panted and trembled against his strong chest. He stroked Wil’s hair, murmuring words that Wil’s brain couldn’t process but that sounded like praise.

As Wil came back to himself, he realized that J’s own hard length was pressed against his stomach, and he moved to fumble at the buttons on J’s pants.

“No, you don’t have to—this is about you.” J’s voice was strained.

Wil looked J straight in the eye. “I want this. You keep asking me what I want, and I want this.”

J nodded and let Wil take over, his only suggestion the wordless offering of the lube he’d stuck in his back pocket. Wil anchored J to him with an arm around his back and his legs trapping J’s legs close. J dropped his forehead to Wil’s as Wil worked his cock. The angle was a little awkward, but Wil experimented with his grip until he found the one that made J bite back a curse and try to rock his hips. Wil stared down at his hand stroking J, at how his whole body was pulling J toward him like he could merge their bodies into one if he just tried hard enough.

J was making his own desperate sounds now, and Wil briefly considered backing off, making J wait like he’d had to, but it was too good to stop. J nudged at Wil’s cheek with his nose, and then they were kissing, and oh God, he’d wanted it so badly that his heart thudded hard in his chest. Their kiss had no finesse, was hard and a little sloppy, but he felt J’s need in how their tongues thrust against each other. J moaned into Wil’s mouth as he came, and Wil clutched J to him even harder as he felt hot semen coat his hand.

They stayed locked together, chests heaving, faces pressed to each other from forehead to nose. Wil felt something building in his chest, a pressure that wasn’t unpleasant but wasn’t comfortable either. He feared opening his mouth lest words he might regret later would tumble out, so he moved to kiss a line down the side of J’s face and over to his mouth. They kissed gently, lazily for a minute, and then J pulled back just far enough to look at Wil. He stroked his fingers down the side of Wil’s face.

“You OK?”

Wil opened his mouth to say yes, but instead heard himself saying, “I love you.”


	12. Chapter 12

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK. What the hell had he just said? Could he blame oxytocin? Temporary insanity due to orgasm? Of course, he meant it, had never meant those words more, but J was methodical, organized, didn’t jump headlong into anything, and Wil had just thrown him into the deep end. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to make it better, but J spoke first.

“Do you usually say that first in relationships?” Wil searched J’s face for a sign of how he was feeling, but aside from a post-orgasmic flush, he looked like he always did.

Wil thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I do.” It was more like _always_ , but he didn’t say that part out loud. He had some pride, after all. J cradled the side of Wil’s face, his thumb stroking Wil’s cheekbone.

“And you know that I care about you?” Wil nodded in reply and then rubbed his cheek against J’s palm. J sighed, and Wil thought it sounded like relief. “Good, because I do. I just, I need more time. This—us—is still really new, and I don’t have your gift for vulnerability. It takes me longer. Are you OK with that?”

Wil pulled J down into a slow kiss, a simple meeting of lips. When they broke apart he said, “As long as there’s more sex—you’re not going to go off on a solo quest to forge a sword while you think about us, right?”

J laughed, accepting Wil’s attempt to turn the conversation. “No, but maybe we could pick this up again tomorrow? I have some practice forging to do for the show, and I—need some time to process.”

Wil examined J’s face and saw the tightness around his eyes. J was off balance. Wil was pretty sure he should be nervous or unhappy, but instead he felt…proud? And sleepy. God, he was sleepy.

“Don’t be so smug,” J said as Wil cracked a yawn, “I’ll have you on your knees again before you know it.”

“Looking forward to it.” Wil tried to smolder at J, but another yawn got in the way. “Sure you don’t want to tuck me into bed?”

“Get out of here,” J said without heat, and Wil pulled him in for a final, lingering kiss. Now that they had started kissing, he never wanted to stop, wouldn’t let them stop. He’d let J be in charge in most ways, but Wil was never letting him withhold his mouth again.

When Wil woke up the next morning to his phone alarm, he wrapped himself even tighter in the duvet, imagining that it was J’s warm body cocooning his. He’d have to bring up the idea of a sleepover sometime soon. Unless that would be moving too fast for J? Aside from his solo hotel room session everything had happened on set, and Wil got the sense that J set up more boundaries than he was aware and that realizing those walls were there would throw J for a loop. He’d been going along with J’s plans—had explicitly said he wanted J to take the lead—but he might need to start taking charge of the feelings part if they were ever going to be more than whatever this was. He’d keep J off balance, but not so much that J panicked. A delicate operation indeed. Wil burrowed deeper into the bed. He’d need his rest for the most important fight of his life.

When he got to his dressing room that morning, Wil saw a small package of brown paper on the table with a note addressed to him. He opened the note first—he’d been raised right, after all—and read:

_Dear Wil,_

_I’ve been working on this for a while and finished it up last night. I hope you’ll find it useful._

_—J_

Wil’s fingers shook as he tore the plain paper and revealed a knife in a short leather sheath. The handle was dark, polished wood that fit Wil’s hand perfectly as he gripped it. The blade, when revealed, took Wil’s breath away. A raindrop Damascus pattern decorated the simple utility blade, form and function blending seamlessly. The note was pure J, and Wil folded it up and tucked it into his wallet. He’d keep that note until the heat death of the universe. J had lied to him last night—he’d been working on finishing this, not a practice run, and knowing J had spent who knew how many hours getting this just right for him made his heart clench.

If J didn’t want Wil falling even more in love with him, he would need to stop being so thoughtful.

The sheath was designed to attach to a belt, and Wil fit it on. He’d always ben a little jealous of the judges having their own blades, and now he would too. He spent more time than he would ever admit practicing drawing the knife from the sheath while he watched himself in the mirror. The only thing saving him from true narcissism was that his eyes were on the knife. It looked like a natural extension of his hand, and he knew he’d be finding reasons to bring it out and use it on the flimsiest excuses. But it was time to hit craft services if he wanted coffee before filming started, so he sheathed the knife and headed out the door. If he had more swagger than usual? 100% due to the knife.

David, wearing a particularly dapper dark green waistcoat, met him at the coffee. He clocked the knife and his brows rose.

“When did you join the knife wearing club?”

Wil felt his cheeks heat. “Uh, just today.”

“J make that for you?”

“Yep.” Wil concentrated on pouring a mug of coffee without spilling. It was harder than it should be.

“You can tell me to mind my own business,” David paused to give Wil a chance to jump in before continuing, “but is there something going on with you and J?” He gestured with his mug, and Wil followed him over to a quieter corner. Wil blew on his coffee while he thought about what he wanted to say.

“Short answer? Yes. But I’m not quite sure what, exactly. The long version would take…hours.”

David took a sip of his coffee. “Well, we don’t have hours right now, but it’s clear you two care about each other, so as long as you’re both happy that’s all that matters. And my offer stands—you ever need to talk, just let me know. I count you both as friends, but I won’t tell J anything you talk to me about if you need someone to listen.”

“Thanks, man.” Wil’s voice was thick. “I am happy. Things are just—intense, I guess.”

David chuckled. “I think that’s the only way J knows how to be.”

Wil snorted out a laugh. “Truer words, Dave.”

“Just a quick suggestion, though.” Dave looked off to the side, scrubbed the toe of his boot against the floor, and coughed. “If you’ve been, ah, spending a lot of time together on set? Just keep in mind that could be an HR nightmare.”

David winked at him and headed toward set, leaving Wil red-faced and spluttering into his coffee mug.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me an unforgivable amount of time to write and post. But now that I have them in the shower another chapter should come soon!

J must have liked the look of Wil wearing the knife, because he pulled Wil into his dressing room during a break in shooting, pushed him up against the wall, and kissed him until they were both breathless.

“If this is what I get for wearing the knife, what happens when I use it?” Wil asked when they both pulled back for air.

“Smart mouth.” J smiled and pressed his thumb against Wil’s lips as if to silence him. Wil bit it. “Cheeky bastard.”

Wil laughed. “It’s not my fault—you make me.”

“I did not tell you to do that.” J was trying to make his voice serious, but Wil could hear the laugh bubbling underneath. Strange, but J’s lightheartedness sobered Wil. He stroked a hand through J’s short, silver hair.

“It’s just that—with you I feel free, like I can do what I want without you judging me for it. It’s fun, but it’s also—I guess what I’m trying to say is that I feel like I can be myself with you because you want to know me, every dark corner. It was uncomfortable at first. It’s still uncomfortable, if I’m being honest, but in a good way. You’ve opened a door in me and now all these things I want are tumbling out.”

J stilled, but Wil kept touching him, making him take the affection. J had to hear this, had to accept it. Even if he clammed up and went all remote like he could when he was judging, he had to know this truth. After a moment, J leaned into Wil’s touch.

“Wil—I didn’t open that door. I just asked you to, and you did it yourself.”

“Oh, you helped.” Wil dropped his voice, enjoying the way the change made J’s breath hitch. “I needed some incentive to start.”

“I’ll have to give you some more incentive to keep going, then. I like what’s coming through that doorway.” J leaned into Wil and said those words right into his ear, then traced a line down Wil’s neck with his lips. Wil shuddered and tipped his head back against the wall.

“Yes, please.”

“Tonight?” The question vibrated against Wil’s collarbone, where J had pulled Wil’s shirt aside to scrape his teeth over the line it marked between his neck and chest.

“Yes. I want—come back to my hotel with me.”

J straightened and looked Wil in the eye. “You want that?”

“God, yes. I’ve been wanting it since I made that video for you.”

J’s smile was small, but it made Wil’s heart pound. “Well, I can’t say no when you’re telling me what you want, now can I?”

A knock on the door made them both jump. “Ten minutes!” a production assistant said on the other side of the door.

“Thanks,” J said, his voice rough around the edges. He cleared his throat. “Be right there.” He turned back to Wil and raised an eyebrow. “You’d better get that smirk off your face before you go out there.”

“Make me,” Wil retorted and darted out of the dressing room before J could retaliate. He’d get what was coming to him later, and it would be glorious.

But as the afternoon handle-making session started, Wil felt tension building in his shoulders. One of the smiths from the morning session had gotten into the second round by the skin of his teeth, saved only because another smith hadn’t met parameters. His blade had some serious delaminations, and J and Dave seemed skeptical about his ability to fix them.

“What’s Mike going to have to do to make a bade that can pass our tests?” He was asking because it was his job, not because he was worried. Dave gave Wil a look that showed he saw right through that.

“Work a miracle?”

“Develop amazing welding skills in the next half hour?”

Great, their responses weren’t helping. Wil had a sudden vision of the blade breaking in the middle of the strength test, a shard embedding itself in J’s flesh. His muscles clenched in response, adrenaline pumping into his blood like he had just seen it happen. He wouldn’t be able to step in and haul J to safety—he’d have to stand by while the show medics took charge.

“Are you even going to be able to test Mike’s blade?” He kept his voice as quiet as possible, but Dave overheard the question before turning to engage Doug. Wil appreciated the relative privacy.

“Unless I think it’s too dangerous, I have to.”

Wil nodded, unhappy, but kept his face thoughtful. He’d practiced that face in the mirror, his thinking face, so that he could turn it on when the show called for it. It was a helpful mask for when things dragged or he got lost in a too-technical discussion of molecules and forging techniques, and now he used it to hide the strain of watching a man make a blade that could hurt J.

He needn’t have worried about Mike’s knife—another smith got J first. Or rather, the handle did. When J finished the coconut chop, he held up his right hand, where the crease between his thumb and palm was bloody.

“Your handle absolutely chewed my hand up,” he told the smith, and Wil had to stop himself from running over to J, throwing him over his shoulder, and running to the nearest hospital. For God’s sake, it wasn’t even that bad, but any injury was unacceptable. Wil focused on his breathing, slowing it and making the appropriate murmurs of disapproval that he and the other judges were supposed to make when something went wrong during testing. Shooting paused so J could get the torn skin cleaned and bandaged—all it took was a few dabs of Neosporin—and Wil turned to Doug, trying to think of something to say.

“Doesn’t look like I’m going to get to do any testing today.” Doug looked disappointed.

“You’ve tested plenty of bad handles before,” Wil said, not following.

“No, not that knife. Look at the set-up. They’ve got Mike’s blade last, and when a weak blade is last in the testing it means they don’t think we’ll test it.”

“Oh shit, you’re right. Sorry, man.”

Doug grinned at him. “I’ll make up for it when we test the final weapons. Got some new slicing and dicing choreography to try out.”

“Maximum ballistic dummy spatter?”

“You know it.”

“Gotta keep the viewing numbers up.” Wil felt like he should be doing better at this, was usually good at bantering with Doug, but he kept glancing over to see that J was OK. Filming finally resumed, and Wil took his testing stance, hands behind his back as he looked impassively at the testing area. J picked up Mike’s knife and moved it through the air as he got the feel. He paused, tilted his head to the side, and then tapped the knife with a knuckle. Shaking his head he walked over to Dave and Doug, and Wil joined their huddle.

“This knife has a rattle,” J said in a low voice and passed it over to Dave, who tapped the blade and frowned.

“That’s a delam that’s busted loose,” Dave said, eyes intent on the blade. “We can’t test this.” Wil almost sagged with relief but caught himself just in time. He had to announce the decision. He turned his sigh of relief into a harder one of disappointment and shook his head as he moved to announce the result—Mike was out and the bastard who’d injured J was through.

J met him at Wil’s dressing room. “Ready to head out?”

“Yeah,” Wil almost growled the word, still shaky from what had happened on set. J’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t say anything as they headed out of the building and took the short walk to Wil’s hotel. “Do you want to get something to eat first?”

“How’s the room service here?”

“Pretty good. The food’s good, and the fact that you don’t have to leave the room makes it fantastic.”

“Then let’s do that. You OK if I use your shower?”

“Um…” Wil had been lost in his thoughts, trying to get his body to calm down over what was a laughably minor injury, but now he was hit with the image of J naked under hot spray.

J gave him a sideways smile. “It can be that kind of shower if you want.”

“Well, _now_ I want.” Maybe he could turn all of that nervous energy in a better direction.

He tried to kiss J when they got into the room, but J pushed him back. “What’s this about?”

“Can’t I want to kiss you?”

“Of course, but you seem—upset isn’t quite the word, but, jumpy.”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“What, this?” J held up his hand, the band-aid on it smaller than Wil had imagined it would be.

“Look, I know it doesn’t make sense, and you can take care of yourself, but I’m not used to not being able to do something when someone gets hurt. I was always the one running in to get them out and to safety.”

J took a moment to consider this. “That would be stressful. Would it help if we gave you something else to think about while I tested blades?”

Now it was Wil’s turn to consider. “It would have to be very distracting. If a small injury like this sent me into a tailspin…” He stroked his chin, which was laying it on a little thick, but J didn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, I think we can come up with something distracting. Should we brainstorm?”

“In the shower?”

“Where else?”

Wil felt like doing something ridiculous, like rubbing his hands together with glee or dancing a jig, but he contented himself with a wide smile. The shower wasn’t a typical hotel tub with a shower head but almost a small room. A low bench opposite the shower head held his shampoo and conditioner, and Wil worried for a brief moment that J would judge him for being vain, but he shook that off. He’d seen how J looked at him, could feel the appreciation in J’s touch. So what if he used fancy-ass products?

J let out a low whistle when he saw the shower. But Wil saw his attention move to the large mirror that covered the wall over the sink. The shower faced it.

“Strip.” The command hit Wil out of nowhere, but he moved to comply. “No—in front of the mirror.”

“Should I face you or the mirror? Sir.”

“Good question. If you face the mirror, you’ll have to watch me appreciating the hell out of your ass. If you face me…no, face the mirror.”

Wil turned and took a moment to enjoy the view of J behind him. Then he moved his hands to his belt. J stood, impassive, and watched as Wil pulled the belt through the loops on his pants. He pulled his shirt out from the pants and started at the top, undoing the buttons one by one, pausing after each button to spread the fabric of the shirt apart, giving J teasing glimpses of his bare skin.

“Showoff.” J said the word without heat.

“Only for you, sir.”

J laughed. “Don’t lie, Wil. It’s not a good look on you. You’re a showoff and you’re mouthy.”

“And what are you going to do about it, sir?” Wil eased the shirt off over his muscled shoulders and thick biceps. He flexed just a touch to emphasize his point.

J wrapped an arm around Wil, trapping his hands at his sides. “I’m going to make you admit it. You’re going to tell me that you’re a smart-mouthed exhibitionist. You’re going to tell me that you get off on people looking at you.”

Wil almost choked on the arousal that hit him. “I’ll never admit that, sir. You can’t make me.” He looked into the mirror and met J’s gaze. J raised his eyebrows, and that small movement almost made Wil break. But he wanted to push further.

“Can’t make you? Maybe I just haven’t made it clear what will happen if you don’t do what I say. Pants off.” J stepped away, and Wil swayed in place. He worked his pants and boxer briefs down his hips and stepped out of them. He decided to give J something and took off his socks as well.

“Now look at me.” Wil met J’s eyes in the mirror. “You’re going to admit it before we’re done tonight. And until you do, you’re going to suffer.” He saw Wil flinch and continued, “No, not that way. Stay there.” J turned the shower on and then left the bathroom. Wil could hear J rummaging through a bag and forced himself to stay still. J wouldn’t go through Wil’s stuff without asking first, which meant he’d brought something himself.

Wil had spent time in the evenings reading up on D/s, and he knew now that a lot of people used props. He didn’t know how he felt about that, although he supposed they’d been using—misusing—the set as a giant prop for a while now. When he saw J had a bandana in his hand when he returned he almost felt let down. He’d been busy speculating about floggers and restraints and J brought out a bandana.

“This is what you get, Wil, for not doing what I tell you,” J said, and moved to tie the bandana over his eyes. Wil accepted it, staying still so that J could tie it without getting Wil’s hair tangled. “I’ve seen you naked already, but you haven’t seen me, and you don’t get to until you do what I said. We’re going to be in that shower together, naked, as long as it takes you to tell me what I ordered you to say.”

Wil could hear J removing his clothing, the rustle of cloth, the slide of fabric against skin, and his fingers twitched. He wanted to turn around and skate his fingers over the skin J was revealing, to see with his touch if he couldn’t with his eyes. But J had told him to stay still, and he didn’t want to disobey more than one command at a time.

“Here.” J’s hand slid around Wil’s waist, and Wi let himself be guided into the shower, J telling him when to step up and in. J arranged him beneath the hot spray so that it pounded on Wil’s back. Wil heard J open a bottle and then the scent of his body wash—sandalwood and…something else that was marketed as manly—filled the steaming air.

“You work your body hard, don’t you, to keep it this strong.” J’s voice filtered through the pounding of Wil’s heart and the sounds of falling water that filled Wil’s ears. J was running his hands over Wil’s arms and chest, slippery and warm. “I think you do it because you want to be strong for other people, but…” J trailed off as his hands stroked lower, across Wil’s abdomen, which clenched in reaction, and across his hip bones. He was deliberately avoiding Wil’s straining erection, which was a feat. J moved his hands up to Wil’s shoulders and pushed him around so that he faced the spray. J began washing his back.

“But what, sir?” Wil prompted as the silence stretched out. The bandana was soaked and Wil couldn’t open his eyes even if he wanted to, the wet material seemed to have glued his eyelids shut.

“But I think you also do it because you know that people like looking at you and that you enjoy their attention.”

“Is that a bad thing?” A light swat on his right flank. “Sir?”

“No, it’s not. Is that why you don’t want to say it? You think I don’t like that you enjoy knowing you’ve got the hottest ass in America?”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far, sir.”

J raked his fingernails down Wil’s back, and Wil’s hips thrust forward, as if that would bring his dick relief. “Well, you should. You’re spectacular, and you know it. And I _like_ that. So say it.” J’s hands skimmed over Wil’s ass and then gripped him hard. Wil moaned, his mind going blank.“Say it, and I’ll take that blindfold off. Say it, and I’ll touch your ass while you make yourself come. I’ll even let you watch in the mirror.”

Wil put his hands onto the shower wall to steady himself as his legs went weak. Fuck, how good would it be if he did it? And why was it so hard?

“I’m—“ he paused and took a shuddering breath, the water running down his face feeling cool against his hot cheeks. “I’m a smart-mouthed showoff. I love making people look at me.” There. He let out a sigh of relief. J’s growl of approval echoed off of the tile, and he reached up to side the bandana off of Wil’s eyes and let it drop with a wet smack on the shower floor.

“Very good.” He ran a hand down Wil’s spine, a soothing gesture. “Now you get the first part of your reward. Turn around.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, Wil is into dad bod and that is CANON. OK?

Wil had never been more excited to follow an order in his life. He blinked the spray out of his eyes as he turned to see J unclothed at last. He took in the strong arms and shoulders, powerful chest lightly dusted with gray hair, the unashamedly middle-aged stomach leading Wil’s eyes down to J’s hard cock.

“Fuck,” the word came out with a hard edge of need. “I—you’re—“ Wil trailed off.

“That sounds either very good or very bad.” Wil caught the gleam of humor in J’s eyes along with something softer, more vulnerable. Wil moved to J and caught his mouth in a kiss before pulling away to say, “Very good. Very, very good. The best.”

“Hm.” J tugged Wil’s head back by his hair. “That goes some way to making up for not doing as you’re told, but you’re going to have to behave yourself to earn the rest of your reward.”

“I’ll do anything. Tell me what to do.”

“Ordering me to give you orders? OK, then—wash me.”

Wil opened his body wash. J never smelled like anything fancy, and here Wil was about to rub sandalwood-and-man-scented soap all over him. Wil didn’t go in for alpha wolf bullshit like marking your territory, but damn if he didn’t like the thought of them sharing something as elemental as scent.

He tried to go slow, relishing the feel of J’s skin yielding to his touch. He had learned a lot about how J’s cock worked, but what about the rest of him? J’s ribs, it turned out, were ticklish unless you stroked the sensitive skin there firmly, and his collarbones were particularly sensitive. As Wil’s fingers explored the sweep from neck to shoulder, J shuddered and his erection bobbed. And when Wil shampooed J’s hair, J went so boneless that Wil guided him to sit on the bench. Wil massaged J’s scalp with his fingers until J moaned low in his throat and reached forward to clutch Wil’s thigh so hard that his fingers left red marks when he let go.

Wil hoped it would bruise. He wanted proof.

When he guided J under the spray to rinse away the final residue, J pulled him close so that the water cascaded over them both. J wrapped one large, strong hand around both of their erections, the sensation of skin on skin on skin so potent that Wil’s vision went fuzzy around the edges. He leaned in those last few inches to trace a path of kisses along J’s collarbone, and J’s grip tightened, making them both moan.

“You’ve been so good,” J rasped. “So fucking good. Time for you to get what you deserve.” He released his grip and turned Wil to face the glass and rubbed off the steam that had fogged it. A metal rail was attached halfway up the part that didn’t open, and he moved Wil’s left hand to grip it. J ran a hand down Wil’s side, lingering over every swell of muscle, and then cupped Wil’s hip, thumb sliding back onto the swell of his ass. “You’re going to go slow, take your time getting yourself off. And I’m going to take my time exploring here,” J punctuated the end of the sentence by landing a light slap where his thumb had been a moment before. It didn’t hurt, was too gentle for pain, but the nerve endings sparked to life nonetheless.

Wil took a shuddering breath, gathering his courage to ask, “All of it?”

“What are you asking? Tell me what you want.”

Wil should have known J would still refuse to operate on implication and demand specificity. He met J’s eyes in the mirror. “Well, I want you to fuck me at some point, and it’s a good idea to work up to it, so…”

“So?” J leaned down and kissed Wil’s shoulder, his hands stroking down Wil’s hipbones. “Tell me—you can say anything.”

“Oh my God, just finger me already!” Wil caught his expression in the mirror after the outburst, his mouth hanging open in shock, and J ducked his head behind Wil’s back. He was probably hiding a grin, the bastard.

J had wrestled his expression under control when he looked back over Wil’s shoulder. “Manners, Wil. But you told me what you want, so you’ll get it.”

“Sorry, sir,” Wil grumbled, half out of embarrassment and half out of irritation with J’s insistence on making him say every single fucking thing he wanted.

J turned and produced the bottle of lube—his commitment to being prepared for everything went some way to soothing Wil’s annoyance—and squirted some into Wil’s hand. “Start slow, Wil. I want to make this last, and I want you hot before I start.”

Wil obeyed, taking his dick in hand, the lube easing the path he stroked up and down the shaft. He locked eyes with J in the mirror before letting his gaze drift down to where J was touching himself. He licked his lips, slowing his movements to match J’s.

“That’s it—just like that.” J’s voice was a mere rumble behind him. “You’re so fucking sexy, Wil.”

“So are you, sir.”

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you for a long time. Some day I’m going to bend you over the anvil in my home forge and fuck you ’til you’re hoarse from shouting, but I’ll take it slow the first time.”

“Fuck.” Wil bit his lip as electricity buzzed through him, making his fingers twitch. “Tell me more. Please. Sir.” Instead, Wil heard J pop the cap off of the lube and then felt J’s touch sliding across his ass. He pushed back into J’s hand.

“You want it bad, don’t you? You’re desperate for my cock. Here.” J’s finger had reached Wil’s entrance, and he pushed lightly against the ring of muscle. Wil groaned, his pace quickening. “Tell me,” J said, his voice stern.

“Yes—I’m desperate for your cock.” The words hung in the steamy air as Wil panted.

“Slow down and you’ll get it. Well, you’ll get the preview.”

Wil forced his hand to slow, slackened his grip, and then he gasped when he felt J push in that first half inch. “Relax for me.” J’s voice was dark and soothing in Wil’s ear, and J wrapped his other arm around Wil’s chest. “I’ve got you. I’ll make it good. Just relax.”

Wil took a deep breath, his ribs pushing against the iron band of J’s arm around him, and let go. J’s finger slid in past the resistance of Wil’s muscles, and they both sighed at the feeling. Wil wasn’t a stranger to penetration, but this felt different somehow. Better. Fuck, it was probably because he loved J, and if that wasn’t just the sappiest thing ever, he didn’t know what was. Wil rested his forehead against the glass.

“OK?”

“Yeah, just having romantic thoughts about you having a finger in my ass.” Wil had to laugh at himself for saying that out loud.

“Oh.” J sounded befuddled.

“It’s a good thing, trust me. Um, can we keep going now? Sir?” When J didn’t move, Wil pushed his hips back, taking J even deeper. That seemed to knock J out of his daze. J released Wil’s chest after a final squeeze.

“Follow my pace.”

And Wil did. J added a second finger after a few minutes, the added stretch and pressure making Wil’s strokes falter for a moment. J was now hitting that spot inside that made lights dance at the edge of Wil’s vision.

“You’re going to be so good when we finally fuck, aren’t you? You’re going to take everything I have and love it.” J started to increase the pace of his thrusting fingers, but Wil kept his strokes slow, prolonging this moment as long as he could. Any more from J and he would explode. He could imagine it—them in bed, their bodies locked together, him taking J so fully that you could barely tell where Wil ended and J began. His heart clenched and he arched back into J, needing as much contact as possible.

“You’re—I’m going to come,” he managed before the orgasm ripped through him so hard that his knees buckled. He heard J curse behind him as he followed Wil over the edge, and J must have caught him then, because the next thing Wil knew, they were on the bench with hot water washing them clean.

Wil was quiet as J turned off the shower, rubbed Wil dry with a large towel, and led him to the bed.

“You OK?”

Wil shifted so that he and J were flush against each other under the covers. “More than OK—I just don’t want to say anything that you don’t want to hear.”

“Ah—I see. You can say it, you know. Even if I’m not ready to say it back, I don’t want you to think you have to hide anything.”

Wil grinned, rolling until he had J half trapped under him. “So I have your permission to tell you that I love you wherever and whenever I want?”

J looked surprised with himself as he replied, “I suppose you do.”

Wil worried his face would cramp, he was smiling so hard. “Well then: I love you. I love you I love you I love you.”

A small answering smile graced J’s face. “You’re going to be impossible after this, aren’t you?”

Wil sighed as he wrapped J up in a full body embrace, legs and arms tangled together. “Yeah—there’s no hope for you now.”

J stroked Wil’s hair until they both fell asleep.

Later, after they’d ordered room service and brushed their teeth—J’s forethought in packing his day bag continued to impress—they lounged on the bed, pretending to watch TV while really watching each other. “I told you I could distract you,” J said, the words ruffling the hair around Wil’s ear. Wil sat up. The nerve he had, bringing up Wil’s earlier freakout. Wil had to retaliate—it was only fair.

“I forgot to check—are you OK?” J started to object but stopped when he saw Wil’s expression. He held out his hand. Wil made a show of looking under the band-aid and feeling the skin on the rest of J’s hand. He placed a gentle kiss on top of the bandage and then moved up J’s arm, pausing to ask, “Does this hurt? Every once in a while until J was stifling laughter. “What? I need to do a very thorough check. Injuries sometimes only become apparent well after the fact.” When J responded with a snort, Wil took a sudden detour south.

“OK, I’m pretty sure the knife handle didn’t hurt my penis, Wil.”

Wil grinned up at him. “I should still kiss it and make it better just in case.”

“Well, when you put it like that, safety first.”

Wil smiled to himself as he got to work.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter of pure, soft fluff. Fluffy fluffy fluff.
> 
> Many thanks to yearofcomets for alerting me to the fact that Dave is a fancy bear in Chakram, their fic here on AO3.

They fell into a routine over the next two weeks, or as close to a routine as a hectic shooting schedule would allow. They’d start the day on set in craft services, joking around with Dave and Doug as they drank coffee, do the morning shoot, grab food and take it to one of their dressing rooms for lunch, and then get dinner on their way back to Wil’s room. Wil was always up at 5 to get his workout in, and J would go back to his hotel to get ready for the day.

There’d been one night when Doug had invited them all out for drinks and they’d laughed so hard over their beers that Wil’s abs hurt the next day—and his abs were on point. He and J had fallen into bed after that outing, too tired to do anything but snuggle. That was the only word for it, and the softness and mundanity had made Wil’s heart squeeze painfully. He’d refrained from saying the L-word too much—it always made J tense like he was bracing himself. But Wil thought it enough to make up for all the times he didn’t say it out loud. Wil had also spent a lot of time thinking about why J flinched when the words did slip out, and he’d decided it was because J didn’t really believe them. Yet. He would, though.

“What are you planning to do this weekend?” J asked one Wednesday morning as Wil blinked awake after silencing his phone alarm.

“Not much,” Wil responded, not adding _besides missing you_ , although that was the truth.

“Would you maybe want to come home with me for the break?” J’s voice was carefully casual, which made Wil sit up.

“Of course I want to. J’s secret lair.” Wil leaned over and kissed J’s cheek, knowing by now that J hated pre-toothpaste kissing.

“It’s not exactly a secret. I have a website.”

“But I’m going to get the exclusive tour and experience. I remember you saying something about me and your anvil?”

J gave in with a sigh and pulled Wil into an embrace. “Fine, you can call it my secret lair.” Wil heard the smile in J’s voice and decided his workout could wait a few more minutes.

Friday passed excruciatingly slowly. They were testing final blades, Italian boarding swords this time, and they had to pause shooting after a ballistics dummy proved to be too full of colored goo, leaving Doug and a good part of the set drenched in red. Wil resisted tapping his foot; the crew always worked hard and he wasn’t impatient with them as they worked to clean up the mess and Doug went off to wash up. No, he was impatient with the concept of time. Seconds remained seconds, minutes passed at the same rate as always, unmoved by his desire to be out of here already and on the road to J’s. His bag was packed and already in the back of J’s car—a Honda Civic, which he was _not_ done teasing J about yet—and his brain was already north of Scranton.

“You heading out west for the weekend?” Dave strolled over to where Wil had leaned up against the wall to brood at the clock.

“Yeah—not as far west as usual, though.”

“Ah, Pennsylvania, I take it?” Dave’s smile made the ends of his mustache curl up a touch. Wil had told J about how Dave had figured everything out, and they’d brought Doug in on things during their evening at the bar. Doug had smirked and said, “They…will KISS” in an exaggerated parody of himself before toasting them. All in all, as perfect as Wil could have wanted it to go. The producers, though, were still in the dark, and Doug would have to stop giving them a huge, dopey grin every time he saw them together if they wanted to keep it that way. Doug had zero chill.

“Yep—going to get the full tour of what small-town Pennsylvania has to offer.” Wil wasn’t manufacturing the excitement in his tone. Growing up as a military brat made the idea of a small town with locals and regulars exciting in its own way. There would be people there whose families had been in the same place for generations, who knew the place and people so well that little could surprise them. It sounded damn cozy.

“Just don’t forget to come back to work on Monday,” Dave said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Who would keep time for us?”

“You could get another clock jockey easy.” Wil hooked his thumbs in his waistband and threw his shoulders back. “Ten minutes, blade smiths! Anyone can do that.”

“But with so much style?” Dave raised an eyebrow and Wil relaxed, laughing. J joined them, his shoulder brushing against Wil’s.

“Practicing lines? Maybe you two can help.” J leaned one shoulder against the wall.

“I’m just a clock jockey, so I don’t know if I can help, but Dave says I have style, which must count for something.”

J ran his eyes up and down Wil’s frame. “You do have style, but that’s entirely your own.” Dave rolled his eyes.

“OK, you two. Let’s keep this set friendly.”

“Yeah…don’t want an HR nightmare on our hands,” Wil shot back with a grin. Dave shook his head.

“But really,” J interrupted, “I’m tired of saying ‘brutally’ for the strength tests. Everything is always _brutal_. I’m going to brutally stab, brutally chop, brutally, brutally, brutally. What else can I say?”

“Hm, well, Ben always says ‘mercilessly,’ and he stole, ‘well, I’m going to do it anyway’ from you, so turnabout is fair play,” Wil said. Shit, he hadn’t realized he’d been paying so close attention that he could trace the history of J’s phrases.

“What about ‘violently’?” Dave was stroking his beard in thought. “Although that’s obvious, I suppose.”

“Viciously? Forcefully?”

“Aggressively? Fiercely?”

“Wildly? Roughly?”

“Bloodthirstil…ily? Wait, too many il-s in there?” Wil and Dave cracked up, and J covered his mouth as he chuckled.

“Thesaurus comedy aside,” J said, his face somehow straight, “Maybe ‘viciously.’ The producers keep asking us to ramp up the drama, but I don’t know if I’m at ‘bloodthirstily’ yet.” Wil rolled his eyes. Of course J would nail the pronunciation on his first try. J noticed and shot Wil a sideways smile.

“Yeah,” Dave said, “remember in the early seasons when we could just say stuff about knives? Now we’ve got to ham it up all the time.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy twirling your mustache for the camera,” J said, and Wil laughed at the mock-outraged face Dave made. It felt nice to be back to ribbing each other on set after a few awkward weeks where he’d felt like he had to behave normally but had no idea what normal was anymore.

“Some mustaches were meant to be twirled,” Dave said. “Someone on this show has to have an impeccable sense of style.”

“Hey, I thought you said I had style,” Wil crossed his arms and frowned at Dave.

“Ah, but your style is different. I’m what some would call a ‘fancy bear’ and you’re…”

“Careful what you say next.” J’s voice was low, a playful note in it, but a hint of a growl as well. Dave held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Easy there, J. I was just going to say that our friend Wil here combines a certain rugged handsomeness with a polished appearance that the producers and fans appreciate. But I would add that fancy bears like myself age very well.”

J choked back a laugh as Wil decided whether Dave had just insulted him or not. He landed on not, even though he was pretty sure Dave had just said Wil wouldn’t look so good when he was old.

Shooting resumed not long after, and despite the clock’s continued insistence on keeping time in a deliberate fashion, he and J were free of the studio and off to his car. Wil adjusted the passenger seat back to accommodate his legs—he needed to stretch them out after all that standing during the afternoon. J rummaged in the side pocket of his day bag and tossed a packet at Wil. Wil caught it.

“Almonds?”

“Thought you might want a road snack. It’s a four-hour drive, and I want to be well out of the city before we stop for dinner.”

Wil stared at the packet—dry, unsalted almonds. “How’d you know these are my favorite?”

“I pay attention to you, Wil. Also, you’re always eating them, so it’s not that hard to figure out.”

“Still—thanks.”

J cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”

Wil leaned over and kissed J, a quick thank-you kiss, but J flushed like Wil had just stuck his tongue down his throat on the Brooklyn Bridge. “Get comfortable—it’s going to be a long drive.” Wil settled back into the seat, and then sat back up when Johnny Cash started to come through the car’s speakers.

“Ok, how did you know _that_?”

“Cash is an American treasure. Everyone likes Cash.” But when Wil fixed him with a stare, J shrugged and admitted, “I may have looked at your phone’s lock screen when you were showering after a workout.”

“Good thing I wasn’t listening to Jock Jams that morning.”

“Sorry—I shouldn’t have done that.”

“On the creepiness scale that’s pretty low, I’d say. It’s not like you’re reading my text messages.”

“I’d never do that.”

“I know—that’s why I said it.”

They gave each other a quick smile, and then J turned back to keep his eyes on the road. Wil settled back into the seat, crunching almonds and watching the traffic around them. He felt free and content in a way he hadn’t in a while. Getting out of the city was exactly what they needed, he decided, as Johnny Cash and J’s smooth driving lulled him into sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, mostly sweet chapter about cooking dinner.

The sensation of the car coming to a stop woke Wil, who blinked at the darkness outside the vehicle.

“Your place?” Wil stretched and yawned.

“Yeah—you were sleeping and I wasn’t too hungry, so I figured we’d just drive through.”

“Mmm,” Wil turned and faced J, who smiled at him almost shyly. “I feel like I could sleep forever.”

“Well, let’s get you inside and then you can, although you should eat something. Almonds aren’t dinner.”

In that moment, in the warm cocoon of the car with J, snow-covered fields and trees outside, Wil wanted to freeze time. The heaviness of his limbs and the sleepy contentment filling his brain made this feel like the best place in the world, although J seemed nervous. Nervous that Wil wouldn’t like his place? That this was a mistake? No, not a mistake. J just liked everything to be in order, and Wil’s arrival was shaking things up. J would feel better once Wil was inside and fitted into J’s usual ways of doing things. That thought, more than the cooling car, got Wil up and moving.

J had clearly had someone come in to look in on the place while he was gone, because the house was warm and the kitchen light was on when they got inside. Wil had dropped his bag beside J’s in the front hallway—apparently moving their bags into the bedroom was going to be a ceremonial affair—and J had installed Wil in a chair at the kitchen table with a tall glass of water and a hot mug of decaf green tea. Wil had tried to get up to help, but J had fixed him with a look and given him a brief lecture about hydration and being a guest, so Wil was doing his best to relax and enjoy watching J chop vegetables for a stir fry.

“I guessed you as a brown rice person,” J said as he started a pot of water and rice boiling over a gas burner, and Wil nodded. “Don’t give me too much credit,” J said with a slanted smile, “I’m a brown rice person too.” Wil laughed into his mug of tea.

“I’ll still give you a little credit,” he said. “Just the tiniest bit. You’re cooking for me, after all.”

“I like doing things for you.”

Wil’s hands wrapped tighter around the mug, giving it the hug he couldn’t give J right now because J was holding a sharp knife and took blade safety seriously. It was nice, Wil thought, once he got over the knee-jerk discomfort of being taken care of instead of being the person taking care. And watching J move around the kitchen, confident and relaxed on his home turf, was turning out to be an aphrodisiac. He now had definite after-dinner plans.

“The veg looks really fresh,” Wil said to distract himself from making sex plans for every surface in the kitchen. Would J be OK with that, or would his clear attention to food safety forestall attempts to use the counters for non-cooking activities?

“It is—I subscribe to a CSA, and one of the farmers here has a heated greenhouse. I like supporting local folks as much as possible, and you can’t beat fresh, local produce for taste and nutrition.”

“Are you the face of a local ad campaign to support area farmers?” Wil was joking, but when he saw J’s cheeks redden he set down his mug with more force than he meant to, a little tea sloshing over the rim. “Wait, no, you are? Oh, please tell me I can watch an ad you’re in.”

“It’s just a print campaign. So far.”

“Tell me the name of the farm or whoever is doing this. Right now.” Wil got out his phone, already typing out a search. “Never mind, I found it—‘No matter how you slice it, local produce is a winner’?” Wil looked up and J nodded, his lips pressed tight together. “I can see why you didn’t tell us about this,” Wil continued, one side of his mouth hitching up, “you look hot when you’re hawking local veg.”

“I look like an old man.”

“Hm, I would disagree, but I also think you’ll look hot when you are an old man, so…” Wil cut off when J snorted. He waited for J to say something, to elaborate on what that snort meant, but when nothing came, he went on. “Don’t believe me? Well, I can’t make you, but I can show you how hot I think you are later, if that’s what you require.”

J made a rumbling sound in his throat, which Wil decided to take as assent. He’d done enough damage for one conversation, anyway, so he sat back and sipped his tea, enjoying the view as J seared the chicken before adding in the veg. He wanted to fan himself when J deglazed the pan with an assurance that only came with long practice, but he was afraid that J would think he was mocking him, so he bit his lip instead and schemed. J needed convincing about more than Wil’s feelings about him, and Wil would need to find away inside J’s control, not to destroy it, but to unbind it where he used it as armor.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the biggest challenge, and it expanded into something much bigger than I anticipated. It was supposed to be short and sexy and then FEELINGS showed up and I needed to do a major re-write. Thanks to my writing buddy, who does not want credit, but deserves all of it.

All of Wil’s plans went awry at the end of dinner.

Wil had just taken the last bite of bok choy from his bowl when J said, "Go back to the entryway and bring back the navy-blue bag. Don't look inside." His voice was hard. Wil dropped his fork, which clattered into the bowl. He stood up. J cleared his throat. When Wil raised his eyebrows, J prompted, "What do you say when I give you an order?"

"Yes, sir."

"I've been too easy on you lately—I think it's time for a review. But first, go get that bag."

"Yes, sir." Wil headed out of the kitchen and into the dim entryway. He felt along the wall to find the light switch, and when he'd flicked it on, found the navy bag. His fingers twitched near the zipper, but if J thought he needed a review of how to sub? Best to start off on the right foot.

"Did you look?" J asked when Wil reentered the kitchen.

"No, sir."

J stood and took the bag. "So, a review. What's your safeword?"

"Camp knife, sir."

"And if you can't talk?"

"I tap you twice, sir."

"Good. Now, who is in charge?" J started to unzip the bag, and Wil craned his neck to try to see inside.

"I'm not sure how to answer that, sir."

"And why is that?"

"Because you said that even though you're telling me what to do, I'm the one who's in charge in the end. Sir."

J reached out and hooked a finger in Wil's belt loop to pull him close. "Very, very good. You know all the right things to say. But you need more practice giving your control over to me."

"Sir?" Wil's voice was tight, whether from desire or apprehension he couldn't tell. Both felt the same—a tightening in his chest, a shallowing of his breath.

“I’m going to go out and check on the forge and other buildings, and while I’m doing that, you’re going to go through this bag and choose what I use on you tonight.”

Wil swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “Yes, sir.” J nodded and left the kitchen, and Wil heard the front door close behind him.

He was definitely feeling apprehension. Not about the contents of the bag. Wil had done some incognito browsing—the people at Google didn’t need to know _everything_ about him, after all—and while he never thought he’d go for leather harnesses or fetish clothing, the restraints, tools, and other props he’d found had turned him on. It was the choice that was making his stomach clench. Yes, he knew that he was ultimately in control, but it was easier to follow along. It always had been. He’d never been submissive before, but he hadn’t really needed to be. He was so good at anticipating what his partners wanted from him that he’d met their needs before they even had to ask. Asking for what he wanted? That wasn’t even the concern. He always got off, so what else could he desire?

And now J wanted him to choose. Wil laid out the contents item by item on the table that J had cleared while Wil was retrieving the bag. Several blindfolds, ranging from what looked like a regular, padded sleep mask to embossed leather, wrist restraints that had stretch to them and others that were thick cuffs that came with a key, floggers that were soft and others that would hurt, smooth paddles and ones with ridges, and cock rings, and clamps, and—Wil stopped and leaned against the table, panting as the choices piled up and his brain shut down. The only thing he could think was _what did J want?_ Why did J keep giving him choices when all he knew how to do was follow?

Wil had barely said anything during their post-dinner conversation, had just said ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ like a recruit during basic. And maybe that’s what he was, a wet-behind-the-ears recruit just learning the ropes. It would be pure hubris to think he’d learned everything about J, everything about _them_ , in the six weeks or so they’d been…doing whatever this was. He’d been falling in love, but J kept revealing new layers he had to learn about and navigate, and what if J was discovering that Wil had, at most, three layers? Fitness, fresh food, and being head-over-heels for J—those were all the layers he could come up with. Oh, and being good at yelling time reminders. Did that count?

And now J was presenting him with this Dominatrix Mary Poppins bag full of _choices_ , and he had no idea what to choose. Sure, browsing the internet to learn about D/s had definitely worked for him, it had caused that sort of vaguely-horny feeling, not a lightning bolt from the sky that illuminated a lifetime of repressed and specific desires. How the fuck was he supposed to choose when he didn’t know what J wanted and he didn’t have an overwhelming need that hadn’t been fulfilled yet?

J was taking his sweet time checking the other buildings on the property. It felt like a fucking eternity, and Wil’s breaths were shallow and hands trembling by the time he heard the door to the house open and close. He tried to calm himself, but there was no time. J’s footsteps sounded in the hall and then he was there in the door to the kitchen, his cheeks red with the cold of the outdoors and his eyes widening with concern as he took in Wil’s evident panic.

J was at Wil’s side in three long strides. “What’s wrong? Is this too much?”

Will shook his head, trying to marshal his thoughts, though they kept spiraling away as he tried to grasp them. “No, not the bag. Just me being stupid. I can’t choose.”

“Don’t call yourself stupid.”

“Well then, don’t point out how stupid I am!” Whoa, Wil had not meant to say that, didn’t even really know what that meant. J reared back as if Wil had punched him in the face.

“Don’t you dare suggest I would call you stupid or even think that.” J wasn’t exactly using his Dom Voice, but his words were sharp, angry. Wil curled in on himself.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” J captured Wil’s chin in a firm grasp, though Wil could feel J restraining his strength, and forced Wil to look up at him.

“I’m sorry I insulted you.” J snorted and dropped his hand away.

“You think that’s what I’m angry about?”

“Yes?” Wil was confused. Hadn’t he just broken a rule or something by saying something bad about J?

“I don’t hear a ‘sir.’” Now J had his Dom Voice on, and Wil relaxed a touch.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m angry because you called yourself stupid and thought so little of yourself that you assumed I would agree. Yes, you also hurt me by thinking I’d ever do something on purpose to make you feel bad about yourself, but what you did to yourself is worse. And now I’m going to punish you for it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Choose a blindfold and restraints. Now. I’d recommend going for comfort, because I’m going to be making you uncomfortable.”

J’s voice was hard and unforgiving, and Wil’s hands shook as he picked out the blindfold that looked like a sleep mask and the stretchiest pair of restraints.

“Now, strip.” Wil complied, only deviating from the command by folding his clothes neatly and putting them on the seat of a chair. He was a guest, after all. J raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t comment. Good. Wil felt off-balance and didn’t know how he’d react to J being a stickler right now.

“On your knees. Don’t sit back on your heels.”

Wil regarded the floor for a moment before obeying. The wood was hard beneath him. It would be uncomfortable, but Wil had a feeling that J wasn’t just talking about physical discomfort. J placed the blindfold over Wil’s eyes, and he felt J adjusting the fit at the back of his head, making sure it was secure but not too tight. “Put your hands behind your back.” Wil’s hands twitched at the first touch of the restraints, but he forced himself to remain still the rest of the time J spent fastening them. He heard J pull a chair close and felt the movement of air as J sat down.

“Tell me—why couldn’t you choose?”

“There were too many choices, sir.” Wil tried to deliver that line of BS with certainty.

“Don’t lie to me. When you lie, when you hold back the truth, you get punished. Open hand or paddle?”

“Hand, sir.”

Wil heard J stand up and move behind him. The slap J delivered on his ass almost unbalanced him, and he clenched his muscles to stay upright. The sting of it also silenced his mind. That, at least, was a relief.

“Tell me the truth this time. Why couldn’t you choose?”

J was going to get the truth out of him eventually, Wil knew, but he was also intrigued by how that single smack had reverberated through his nerves. He’d like more of those, he thought. When he took too long, J said, “Answer me or I’ll spank you more. You have until I get to one. Five, four, three, two, one.” Another stinging slap, this time on the other side. It loosened something in Wil’s brain, making it easier to say, “I didn’t know what you wanted me to pick.” Another slap. “Sir.” His skin felt hot where J had struck him, making the rest of him seem cold in comparison.

J gripped Wil’s hair, pulling his head back. Wil felt J’s breath against his ear as he said, “And why would you care what I wanted you to pick?”

“I want to please you, sir.”

“Hm.” J released Wil, and Wil swayed where he knelt. He heard J move back around do the chair and sit back down. “Sit back now.” The pressure of Wil’s heels on the skin J had just spanked was on the edge of pain, but not quite there. Wil bit his lip against a whimper. “You’re so eager to please that you lose track of yourself. Tell me, how did your last relationship end?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it a relationship, sir.”

“Then what would you call it?”

“It was just casual sex, which I was OK with. It was pretty clear she didn’t want me for my conversation, sir.”

“And the relationship before that?”

“Basically the same, but a guy. Sir.”

“And the one before that?”

Wil’s breath caught as he thought about Peter for the first time in months. “That was less casual, sir, but it didn’t last long. He said we didn’t have enough in common to make it work, and he was right, sir.” And it was true—Peter had liked doing inside things while Wil was always itching to get outside, to do something with his body. The only indoor activity they’d both agreed on was sex, and that wasn’t enough to keep a relationship going, no matter how many orgasms Wil handed out.

“And are you afraid I’ll think the same thing? That I only care about what you can do for me and how you look?”

Wil sat there in silence, shame burning sharp in his throat and behind his eyes.

“Answer me.”

Wil shook his head. “It’s too hard, sir.”

“I don’t hear a safeword, so I don’t believe you. Answer me.” Wil heard J get up from the chair, and then J was hauling him upright and urging him to kneel on the seat of the chair. J freed one hand from the cuffs so that he could bring Wil’s hands in front of him, then refastened the restraints so that Wil was gripping the back of the chair. When Wil remained silent, J sighed and said, “You know what that gets you.” He delivered a series of three sharp slaps to Wil’s ass, laying each strike in the same spot. Wil felt like he might crack the chair back, he was gripping it so hard.

“I don’t—it’s just—I don’t even know how to say it. What if I _am_ stupid? What if you find out there’s not much to me and you get bored? What if all I am is someone who’s good at following orders, and once you find out you decide to move on? Sir.” The last word was almost a whisper following the confession. It sounded pathetic, needy, but there it was, out in the open. God, Wil would have given anything to rip off the blindfold and run naked into the night, but he didn’t wriggle out of the cuffs or say _camp knife_ , so he supposed that part of him wanted J to see this small and pitiful part of himself.

“I can tell you that you’re not stupid, that you’re not boring, but I don’t think that would help, would it? Because you would think I was just placating you, telling you what you want to hear so that you’ll stay with me.” J stroked his hand over where Wil’s flesh smarted from the spanking. “You sure you want to stay in the cuffs?”

Wil nodded. A warning tap from J. “Yes, sir.”

“OK, then. You won’t believe me if I say it, so you’re going to have to say it. The safeword still applies.”

“Yes, sir.” Wil felt his breathing slow as J ran a hand through his hair before gripping it lightly, sending the barest tug of pain through Wil’s scalp.

“Tell me something you like about yourself.” Wil twisted away from the words, but J’s hand in his hair kept him in place. “Tell me.”

“I—,” Wil reached for the safest possible answer, “I like how enthusiastic I am, sir.”

“That’s a good start, but you can do better. Tell me something you like about yourself that other people can’t see easily. Everyone knows that you’re enthusiastic.”

This time, J gave him room to think, which was good, because every time he’d smacked Wil’s ass, Wil had lost the ability to form coherent thoughts, and this took mental effort. After what felt like long minutes, he finally said, “I like that I am curious about things. I like learning new stuff even if I don’t get to learn a lot about it. I always have something to be interested in.”

“Much better. Tell me something else you like.” J stayed where he was, but he used his free hand totrail a single finger up Wil’s thigh, right up to his hipbone, and back down.

“Please don’t make me, sir.”

“Again, I don’t hear a safeword. Or are you testing me? You want me to spank you more?”

Wil swallowed hard and shook his head. He’d get more of that later if he was lucky, but this game of words needed to play out without further interruption. “I like that I’m really good at noticing people and reading situations.”

“And what makes you good at doing that?”

“I—“ Wil had to pause and think. J waited in silence, though he was back to stroking up and down Wil’s thigh. “I guess I’ve always been good at it. I remember being a kid and knowing when a fight was about to start and how to say the right thing to stop it. But I also think that the Army and Air Force made me better at it. I was following orders, but I still had to adapt when something didn’t go to plan or make judgment calls when things got complicated. And things were always complicated.”

J’s finger traced up past Wil’s hip, the touch turning firm when it reached his abdomen. J, as always, taking care to touch Wil in ways he’d enjoy as he bared himself. “Tell me one more thing.” Wil could feel that J was bending over him but did not expect the press of J’s lips where his jaw met his neck. Wil jerked, half from surprise and half from an aching, raw pleasure that was uncurling inside him. J nipped him, and Wil fought to stay still. “Yes. Good—kneel there and take it.”

Wil had started this feeling the least sexy he had in…maybe ever, but now he felt himself start to harden, felt his pulse quicken as the realization broke over him. Giving his control, his power over to J wasn’t just about bodies and games and pleasure. It was about trusting J with the fact that, underneath the strength Wil had cultivated and the power he had because birth and society had given it to him, he was just another person who was a slight—perhaps moderate—emotional mess and who wanted someone to like him for who he was, not for how he looked or how good he was in bed.

“Tell me. One more thing.” J’s growling command brought Wil back to the moment, back to the reality of one of J’s hands in his hair and the other splayed possessively across his abdomen.

“I like that I’m loyal—determined—whatever you want to call it. I stick with my people and with whatever I’m doing until it’s done and done well. I don’t give people or things up if they matter.”

“And you don’t think all of those good things about yourself make you worthy of care or mean that someone should cherish you? You think that you should just give and give to other people while thinking so little of yourself?”

“No, sir?” Wil really had tried to say it as a statement, but his voice betrayed him.

“I see you need more convincing. Follow me.” J helped Wil stand up, steadying him as he got first one, then the other foot on the floor. J led him out of the kitchen, Wil’s hands clasped in one of his, telling himwhen there was a small step down from the kitchen to a hallway, telling him how many steps it was before they would have to turn left. And then he was pushing Wil back onto a bed—it must be J’s bed, because it smelled like him—and briefly undoing one of the restraints to loop it through a slat on the headboard. Wil was laid out flat, his hands above his head, the soft flannel of the sheets soothing his smarting skin.

“I’m going to tell you a story, and while I do that, I’ll touch you wherever I want, however I want. And you won’t know what I’m going to do next. But the safeword still applies. What is it again?”

“Camp knife, sir.”

Wil felt the mattress dip as J moved onto the bed, and then J was straddling his legs, pinning Wil down. Even though J had been inside for a while now, Wil could have sworn he felt the cold from the outdoors clinging to the fabric of J’s jeans.

“I’m going to tell you the story of when I realized that I wanted you, when I wanted this.” J’s finger landed lightly on Wil’s sternum and he traced the line down and followed the sweep of his ribs to the side. “It wasn’t right away—I thought you were handsome, of course, because you are, but I didn’t know you yet. No, For the first season of filming I was busy learning the show, figuring out my persona, and getting to know the team.” J’s touch disappeared for a moment, and then Wil felt a sharp tug on his hair pulling his head to the side and J bit his neck. Wil felt his dick twitch in response. But those touches disappeared as J started talking again.

“You’ve probably figured out by now that I take time to settle into things and get comfortable, and the show was the same. It was only during season two that I started picking up on things. I already knew that you were funny and curious and genuinely interested in learning more about blades and forging—I’d been worried, you know, that the person they chose as host would just be good looking and otherwise worthless. But you weren’t. Right from the start you asked good questions and remembered our answers.” J shifted off of Wil’s legs and started exploring his feet, his touch firm on the arches and feather-light as he traced the bones that led to Wil’s toes.

“But in season two, I realized I was looking forward to getting to set every morning so that I could see you, talk to you. I wanted to hear about how you got here, well, there, I guess. What led you from the military to television and then to Forged. I wanted to hear what you thought about the smiths in each episode and see what you thought about the tests for each round.” J’s hands had moved up to Wil’s lower legs, and it turned out that his shinbones were an erogenous zone? When had that happened?

It was hard to just lie there and let J say nice things about him, but the details J was sharing combined with the slow exploration of Wil’s body made him feel like he was being hypnotized. He felt himself slipping into a state of simultaneous arousal and relaxation. It almost felt like a sex dream, but without the feeling of unreality and the nagging worry that he’d wake up before he got to the good parts. This was all good parts, even if he wondered if he’d ever stop blushing.

“But it wasn’t until that day on set when you asked to see my karambit and then used it to blow bubbles that I knew how much I wanted you.” J was now exploring Wil’s thighs, tracing the lines of muscle and tugging lightly on the hair that grew there. Wil couldn’t help but press his heels into the mattress to try to increase the contact between them, but J pressed his legs down. “Do you remember that day?”

“Yes, sir. I remember you taking a picture after telling me that I was misusing an excellent blade.” J chuckled and raked his short, but surprisingly sharp, fingernails down Wil’s skin, leaving trails of fire behind. Wil was desperate for J to touch his dick, which was now iron-hard and flat up against his belly.

“You were. Blades are not for blowing bubbles. But I knew in that moment, the second you dipped that damn handle in that soapy water, that I wanted to make you mine. That I wanted your mischievousness and energy in my bed. That I wanted your company and conversation out of bed. And I took that picture so I’d never forget that moment.” J had moved his hands to Wil’s abdomen, but was refusing his touch where Wil most wanted it, instead tracing around where the head of Wil’s cock pulsed with each heartbeat.

“And here I thought you’d taken that picture because the producers said you needed a larger social media presence.” Desperation was making Wil mouthy. J pinched one of his nipples—hard. Wil swore.

“For that, I’m not going to touch you anymore.” The bed shifted again as J shifted away from Wil, and he would have rolled after J, chased him down blindfolded, if the cuffs had let him.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“No, you’re not. And now I’m just going to talk, and you’re going to lie there and take it. And you’re going to like it.”

“I trust you, sir.” Wil had known he’d pay, but keeping this sex-dream-not-a-dream going wasn’t the worst thing J could do.

“That day was the first time I thought about taking you in the forge, making you strip for me so that I could see what you hid beneath your clothes and the mask of self-confidence you wear. I thought about grabbing you by the hair as you swallowed my cock, fucking your mouth as you knelt on the hard floor.”

Wil pulled on the cuffs, which had too much give to really dig into his wrists, but he needed whatever pressure he could get on his skin. Knowing he was _choosing this_ , finally able to take a decision and own it, even if that decision was to remain bound and helpless and without J’s hands on him, made even the slight sensation of restraint almost too good to bear.

“But even more than that,” J continued, and Wil heard J slide his zipper down and the click of the top coming off lube, “I thought about bringing you here and how I’d show you what my life was like off camera and doing filthy things with you at night—and during the day—but doing all the regular things too. Reading before going to sleep at night, drinking coffee in the morning at the table.”

The base of Wil’s spine began to tingle. Jesus Christ, was picturing waking up next to J and then having a quiet breakfast together going to send him over the edge, and all without J touching him? Wil thrashed on the bed, hips twisting toward J, begging him for contact that he wouldn’t give. Instead, he heard the unmistakeable sound of J jerking himself off, the strokes tight and fast.

“I thought about tying you down to this very bed, making you beg for my cock in your mouth, your ass, anywhere I wanted to put it. I thought about making you come again and again. I thought about cuffing you to the headboard and leaving while you waited for me, naked and turned on and not knowing when I’d be back to finally give you what you wanted.” A bit of bunched-up sheet grazed the side of Wil’s dick as he strained toward J, sending sparks through Wil’s body. He was about to die, he was about to explode, he was about to— J’s voice sounded low and fierce in his ear, “I thought about blindfolding you and making you find me just by following the sound of my voice, not knowing where I was or where you were, and not knowing what you’d run into as you tried. I thought about so many things, years of things I wanted to do to you, with you, for you.”

That was it, that was the final thought that sent Wil over the edge, his orgasm ripping through him with the force of a bullet, leaving him raw and open and changed. He didn’t know what he was saying or even who he was anymore as his whole body pulsed with the force of it.

But J kept talking.

“You’re so fucking amazing, Wil, and you think I’d get bored with you? Look at you, tied to the bed, me not even touching you, and you coming like you’ve been thoroughly fucked. God, I want everyone to know you’re mine, I want you a thousand different ways—“ he cut off with a grunt, and Wil felt wet heat coat his belly as J came, and then the mattress gave underneath him and he was rolling into J as J collapsed beside him, pulling Wil in even as he freed Wil’s hands from the cuffs and took off the blindfold.

“We’re ruining your sheets,” he said, blinking against the light, and then immediately buried his face in a pillow. “God, pillow talk is not my forte.”

J laughed and stroked Wil’s hair. “I have extra sheets, and we can talk about whatever you want. But are you OK?”

Wil smiled, not his usual wide grin, but something smaller and truer. “I’m good. Better than good even though I also feel…awkward.”

“Why’s that?”

“We really got into some shit tonight, like, some deep shit I didn’t even know was there.”

J pulled Wil closer, his arms comforting and steady. “Good shit, though, I hope.”

“I think so. Although maybe I should talk to someone about it. You know, like, someone I’m not fucking.”

“Yeah, this isn’t therapy. Although I did like making you compliment yourself. That was surprisingly hot.”

Wil pulled back to give J a smile, this one bigger. “It was, wasn’t it?”

J hummed his agreement and pulled Wil’s head back down to his shoulder. “You alright to stay here—in bed, I mean—for a few more minutes? I think I need some quiet time before we get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Wil said, relaxing into the embrace. “I could stay here forever.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter after the last mega-chapter that almost broke me.

Wil must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, J was leaning over him, a glass of water in his hand. “Thirsty?” Wil nodded and scooted up against the headboard, taking a long drink before putting the glass on a coaster on the bedside table. No water-ring-marked furniture for J. He regarded J, who had unfortunately put on pajama pants while Wil was out, and gave him a smile.

“You’re taking care of me.”

“And?” J cocked an eyebrow.

“And I like it. Thank you.”

“Good, because my next trick is getting you into a warm shower and then back into bed for some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Wil stretched, enjoying how J’s pupils dilated as his eyes tracked the movement of Wil’s muscles. Wil knew that the anxieties J had revealed hadn’t magically gone away after one good fuck, but he felt more at peace with himself, with himself in a relationship with someone else, than he had in a long time. Maybe since the first time he’d settled for casual sex when he’d really wanted something else. He’d known better than to hope someone who said they wanted casual would just fall in love with him, had never pressed it or blamed someone when they didn’t catch feelings, but it hadn’t been for him and he’d settled for it because he’d thought that was all he had to offer. And now someone wanted him for more than sex—although J still wanted him for that, thank God—and wanted to care for him. “A shower sounds good,” he finally said, and levered himself up from the bed.

“The darker towels are for you,” J said, the low heat of his voice at odds with his words. Wil paused in the door to the bathroom and looked over his shoulder.

“You want me to leave the door open so you can enjoy the view?”

“Your choice, Willis.”

Wil left the door open, although once he got under the hot spray of the shower and it steamed up the glass, he didn’t know if J was watching him or not. The water pounding on his bare skin blanked his mind, and it wasn’t until he was halfway through the shower that he realized J must have unpacked his toiletries and moved them to the shower while he was sleeping. Sneaky bastard. When he reentered the bedroom, teeth freshly brushed and a towel wrapped around his hips, he saw that J had changed the sheets and put Wil’s bag on one side of the bed. He gave J side-eye.

“What’s that for?”

“You’re just being so thoughtful that I’m feeling vaguely guilty.”

“You’re my guest, and I care about you.” J walked around the bed, pausing in front of Wil.

“Precisely.” Wil shrugged. “I didn’t say it made sense.”

“Well, I’ll tell you not to feel guilty and that taking care of you after sex is something I like to do and also something I should do. But if you’re going to feel guilty, get used to it. I’m not going to stop.”

“Yes, sir.” Wil gave him an exaggerated salute and made his voice just a little too sincere.

“Cheeky. For that, I’m going to shower with the door closed.”

Wil pretended to swoon. “No! I’ll die if you do that.”

J laughed as he shut the door behind him. Wil changed into his lounge pants and got into bed—J had changed the sheets while he was showering. Double-sneaky bastard. These were also flannel, cocooning Wil in soft warmth. He dozed on and off until he felt J getting under the covers and heard him turn off the bedside lamp. Wil rolled toward J, and they found each other under the covers, tangling their arms and legs together and sharing minty-fresh air.

“How are you?” Wil mumbled, cracking a yawn.

“Good—very good. You?”

“The most good. Thanks for tonight, for everything.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

Wil forced his eyes open, and while he couldn’t read J’s expression in the dark, he felt it was important to at least look in J’s direction as he replied, “Of course I trust you.”

“Was there anything you don’t want to do again?” J’s voice was soft, serious.

“Well, I don’t want to have another panic like I did, but everything else was good.”

“Anything you definitely want to do again?”

“Um…how specific do you want me to be?”

Wil could hear the smile in J’s voice as he said, “Very.”

“I liked the blindfold, and the cuffs, and I didn’t know I would, but I liked the spanking.”

J moved a hand down to Wil’s ass, stroking the skin gently through the fabric covering it.

“Was it too hard?”

“No—if anything, I think I might like it…harder?” Wil ducked his head and J pulled Wil closer.

“Whatever you want—truly.”

“Definitely harder then. I also want to try out some different restraints to figure out what I like best. You seem to have quite a collection.” Wil found J’s lips in the dark and gave him a long, slow kiss. “But right now I want to go to sleep and wake up in the morning beside you, in your bed.”

J pushed on Wil’s shoulder until he’d turned over, and then pulled Wil back into him so that Wil was tucked into the curve of J’s body. Wil laced his fingers with J’s and pulled their joined hands up against where his heart was beating.

“Good night, Wil.”

“Good night, J.”

Wil sighed, closed his eyes, and drifted into dreamless sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

Saturday dawned bright, the sun reflecting off the snow so much that Wil put on his sunglasses for J’s tour of the property. They’d breakfasted on waffles and eggs that J had insisted on making even though Wil had protested that yogurt and granola was just fine by him, but he’d been glad for the eggs by the time they finished tromping through the snow to see all the outbuildings. While J’s workshop would be warm enough with the forge going, it was cold at the moment, and Wil sadly let go of the dream that they would have sex in the workshop on this trip. But maybe another trip? God, he hoped there would be another trip.

Wil always forgot that sunny skies in winter meant colder temperatures, and so he was shivering by the time they got back inside. “You should have taken the scarf I offered,” J grumbled at him, and Wil was inclined to agree. He should have brought his own damn scarf, come to think of it. But he quickly decided that refusing had been the right choice, because J bundled him into a hot shower and then back into his comfortable clothes so that he could then piled blankets on Wil in the bed and sit right next to him “for warmth.” It was cuddling, pure and simple, and Wil soaked it up.

They reclined against the headboard, J reading a Stephen King paperback and Wil a book about the WWII Norwegian resistance on his phone. He’d broken down and asked J to get him his reading glasses—he didn’t want to blow up the font a lot and his feet were still cold—and J had only nodded and said, “Nice look” when Wil had donned the lenses with thick, black rims. “Would you call me professorial?” Wil had joked, and J had just shrugged and said, “You look good with them. You look good without them.”

After who knows how long, Wil cracked a yawn and stretched. “Tired?” J looked up from his book. “You can take a nap if you want. I can draw the blinds.”

Wil settled back onto the headboard and leaned into J. “Not sleepy. Just content. It’s been a while since I’ve had a lazy day.”

“I could order you to go shovel if you’re feeling cooped up.”

Wil laughed, “Trying to get free labor out of me, J? Shame.”

“I just want to make sure you’re getting everything you need this weekend.”

Wil sat up and looked over at J. “Are you getting what _you_ need this weekend?”

“You’re a guest.”

“And you’re not answering my question.” Wil gave J a look, his best imitation of the don’t-try-to-weasel-out-of-this look J had given him a few times.

J sighed, “I don’t need anything, and having you here is everything that I want.”

“Hm,” Wil leaned the few inches he needed to kiss J’s shoulder. “I’d be interested in hearing more about what you want, though. You’ve been getting me to tell you what I want, and I want you to do the same for me.” J shifted in place. “Ooh,” Wil leaned even further to kiss J’s jaw. “There’s something good you want. Tell me.” When J pressed his lips together, Wil started a chant of “Tell me, tell me, tell me” until J cut him off with a hard kiss.

“Devil. You won’t stop, will you?”

“Not unless you make me…sir.” Wil let all the impudence he had inside of him color those words.

J sighed. “Fine—I’ll tell you, but you don’t have to do it unless you want to. See, there’s this place I go in town sometimes, and…”

“…and you want me to give you a blow job there?”

“No!” J looked horrified, and Wil almost giggled. “I just, I always thought it would be nice to get picked up there, if that makes any sense. I’ve always been the person to make the first move, and I’d like to see what it’s like the other way around. Wil sobered instantly.

“You’re asking if I’d want to do that? Hell yes, I would. Do you want to do it tonight?” He checked his phone. “It’s almost five. Maybe we eat something here and then head over? Do you want to tell me what you want me to do, or do you not want to know what’s going to happen?”

J laughed, his face a little red. “If I’d known you’d be so on board I would have brought this up sooner.”

“Well, I haven’t been out here before, so how could you? And now you’ll get to see all of my smoothest moves.” Wil leaned in close and whispered into J’s ear, “My moves are…very smooth” and then broke off laughing when J sideways tackled him into the mattress.

An hour-and-a-half later, Wil sat in J’s Honda as he waited for the ten minutes J had requested between their arrivals to pass. Wil scrolled through reviews of the bar—Byrne’s Tavern—on his phone. It was popular with the locals and seemed relatively hidden from out-of-towners. Some of the reviews were clearly written by regulars who were razzing Dan and Joelle Byrne, the owners, for menu changes or minor tweaks to the decor. He loved it already, and all he’s seen so far were the neon signs hanging in the window and the collection of no-fuss cars and trucks in the parking lot. It looked pretty busy, but not like it would be a crush inside. Wil checked the time again and saw that his ten minute wait was over. Bracing against the cold, he headed across the lot and to the doors.

Byrne’s Tavern was dark, the wooden tables scratched, and the note of years-old cigarette smoke a faint undercurrent beneath the scent of fried potatoes and people who’d done a hard day’s work. Wil loved it. The neon signs on the wall advertised the usual beers, but he was here for one thing. Well, besides J. “A pint of Yuengling,” he said, leaning his elbows against the bar. The bartender—perhaps Dan Byrne himself?—nodded and grabbed a pint glass before turning to the taps behind him. Wil could feel J’s eyes boring into him from behind, and he shifted his stance, cocking a hip out just a touch. J deserved an eyeful of how good Wil’s ass looked in the tight jeans he’d picked out.

Wil had even tucked in his shirt to give J a better view, even though this bar was not a tuck-your-shirt-in-and-look-snazzy place. Unless, of course, you were the man sitting at the end of the bar, but that guy was wearing a faded blue shirt tucked into old jeans and a cap that read “PA Farmers Union.” Wil almost cackled with glee, but the old timer might think he was mocking him instead of reveling in how awesome this was.

“Three bucks,” maybe-Dan said as he slid the beer towards Wil. He pulled out his wallet and left a two-dollar tip. This was the cheapest beer he’d had in years. Benefits of small-town living, he guessed. “Thanks, man,” he said, nodding at maybe-Dan and turning around to take in the rest of the place. Two pool tables were at the opposite end of the room with doors to the restrooms beyond and a collection of booths and tables in between. Most of the people were either at the bar, talking with friends or watching the game on the TV, or back by the pool tables, where things were a bit rowdier, but not in a way that suggested trouble.

He caught sight of J in a booth midway to the pool tables, and his breath caught in this throat. This was supposed to be a game, but it felt real. What if they’d met like this? What if, one day, Wil had walked into a bar and caught sight of J, his quiet self-assurance cutting through the noise and the people dressed to impress? What if he’d noticed a man in a Carhartt shirt and sipping a beer while regarding the room like a king among his subjects? Wil had to shake himself back into the moment. He hadn’t done that, kind of regretted that he hadn’t, but they could have this right now if he played the part.

Sauntering towards J’s booth, pretending that the heat of J’s hooded gaze hadn’t already turned him to mush, Wil gave J a grin. “Drinking alone?”

“Not anymore, if you join me.” J leaned back in the booth and propped one elbow on top of the cushion, as if to say, _I was perfectly happy alone, but I guess you’ll do_. Liar.

Wil put his pint glass down on the table but didn’t sit, instead leaning on the edge of the booth opposite J and eating up the way J’s gaze tracked a slow path from his legs to his eyes. “Hm, that’s not exactly what I meant to ask. _Why_ are you drinking alone?”

J shrugged one shoulder. “Wasn’t in the mood for company.” Now Wil slid into the booth. As he swung his feet under the table, he brushed against J’s boots with his Chucks, lingering for a moment, making sure J felt it, before he pulled his feet to his side.

“I’ll have to see if I can change that. No one should drink alone, but especially not you.”

“Oh?” J was doing his best to look bored by the whole thing, but Wil could see the slight tension in his shoulders and the gleam in J’s eyes.

“If you’re trying to get me to compliment you and explain that you have the perfect mix of silver fox and real-person-with-a-real-life going on or that all it takes is ten seconds of looking at you to know that you’re an interesting person—well, I guess I just did tell you all that. But you already knew.”

“Another thing you could tell just by looking?”

“No—that’s something you feel, like a magnet drawing you in, and I could feel it all the way from the bar.” Wil leaned forward a little, as if to illustrate J’s pull.

J raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re making sound like a cocky SOB.”

“Nothing wrong with that. But you’re not cocky so much as…” Wil drew out the pause and leaned back in the booth, stretching his arms out across the back. And yes, he flexed a little. “…self-possessed. Commanding. I could check the thesaurus if you want other adjectives. Now me, I can be cocky, and I think you might like that.”

“I might.” J took a sip of his beer, a Guinness, maybe? Wil would have to scold him for not supporting Pennsylvania brewing later and then get what was coming to him. “But first I’d like to get your name.”

Whoops. Wil had forgotten that they weren’t supposed to know each other. He gave what he hoped was a mysterious smile, like he’d meant to not lead with his name. “I’m Wil. You?”

“J. The letter, not J-A-Y.”

“And what’s the letter stand for?”

J didn’t reply, just smiled. But then a middle-aged couple walked by and the woman said, “Hey, Jim, good to see you!” and Wil had to hide his grin behind his hand. J fixed him with a glare and said, “It’s still J to you.”

“I was really hoping for Jedediah. Or at least Jermaine.” Wil said with mock solemnity. This was more fun than he’d anticipated, teasing J about things he already knew.

“You like to push things, don’t you?”

Wil tossed J a grin. “Do you like it? I can do more.”

J shrugged, noncommittal. “I like a lot of different things.”

Wil fought the urge to roll his eyes. J was making it very hard to be picked up. He’d have to up his game.

“I think you like it, that you’re too used to people going along with what you want or what you say. I think you’d like someone to push back for once. Tell me if I’m wrong—“ And now Wil decided to be very bold and crossed his legs so that he could run the toe of one shoe up the inseam of J’s pants. “—but I think you’re dying for something different.” J didn’t stop him, didn’t move his legs or place a quelling hand on Wil’s foot, so he continued.

“Oh?” J’s voice was rough and held an edge of strain. Perfect. Wil let his foot trace up and down the inside of J’s knee.

“The way I figure it is you’re a regular here—you know everyone and they all know you. You probably get folks stopping by to say hello the whole time you’re here, but what you really want…” here Wil paused to take breath. He knew the broad outlines of what would happen here, but everything in between was pure improvisation, and he had the sense that he was talking his way to a truth that was too important to get wrong. He continued, “What you’ve been waiting for is someone to sit down and stay, not just pass by, not just shoot the shit for a minute, but to come up to you and know that they’re yours if they choose to be, and then they choose. They sit down, and they stay no matter what.” Fuck, his throat was closing up around some emotion—not quite love, which always felt happy and fizzy in his chest, but a feeling he didn’t have a name for, a feeling that made him ache down to his soul—and if he said any more, he feared J would get in his car and drive until the sunset swallowed him up.

J pushed his beer aside and sat forward, gripping Wil’s wrist. Hard. “You sure you want that?” Wil nodded, blinking back the moisture that had gathered in his eyes. “Good,” J’s voice was a low, soft growl. “You’re going to get in my car, and then I’m driving you back to my place, and when we get there I’m going to fuck you senseless. Questions?” Wil shook his head, and J released his wrist. “Follow me.”

And Wil did.


End file.
